Mock Me
by feralhand
Summary: Thanks to the devilish handiwork of a new housemate, codename ‘Catalyst,’ the Rogue and Gambit experience an ability changeup. Familiar grounds are explored via notsofamiliar routes. AU. Short. Mild Romy
1. Pseudoscience

Mock Me

05.29.07 - 06.02.07

an X-Men:Evo FanFic

**Author's Note (09.02.12)** - Oh my stars, stop right where you are! As one lover of the fandom to another, I feel the need to warn you that this fic is _so old_, and was written when I was (figuratively speaking) _really_ young and dumb. If you feel brave, know that you'll have to overlook the following crimes in writing fanfiction (and fiction in general) to get through this story: mary-sue-ism, incomprehensible accents, holier-than-thou narration, dubious quality of characters, an annoying OC who is central to the story, confused rising action and climax, failing grammar, wrong French, and I don't even know what else. I couldn't push myself to read more than the first handful of paragraphs.

It's really bad. Not all of it, but most of it. Maybe one day I'll go back and fix the really bad parts (dialogue, for starters). As much as I'd like to take it down, I won't. Some of my favorite stories and authors have vanished over the years due to feelings like these, and because it upset me to see them go, I can't ascribe to that behavior. This silly disappointment of a yarn is part of my past, and I don't ever want to forget what it taught me.

* * *

CHAPTER ONE - Pseudoscience

A morning, like any other, in a house, like any other. Don't mind the fact this house is more a mansion than a simple, humble domicile; nor should a body contemplate too deeply the manner in which its residents shepherd secrets with every darting glance of their eyes. Normalcy is commonplace, and though the lavish gardens and high-tech accessories are far from mundane, there is a familiar rhythm to be found. The melody the walls would sing (had they lungs instead of insulation) is as fundamental and typical as one discovered in the corridors of the most learned libraries and mellow playgrounds. The Xavier's Institute for Gifted Children stands with both a professional and intimate air, welcoming to all yet fiercely protective at the same time.

Bound in brick and marble, the facility boasts an elegant and contemporary connotation by architecture alone. Beyond the great, clean glass doors and wall of windows lies the foyer and paths like labyrinths throughout the sanctuary. Many a vagabond, misfit, or runaway has past through only to falter against the sublime sight inside. Dark, solid wood- perhaps maple or cherry?- blankets the halls and steadies the winding staircases leading to the second story. The expertly crafted chandelier hanging from the high ceiling has provoked dozens of marveled looks in its time. More importantly are the chambers within, accommodating each occupant of the institute with amenities fit for kings and queens, some would say. Not only a haven, but a school too, evident by the classrooms and forums furnished with cutting edge, as well as wisely ancient, material.

However, for all the beautiful background that could be given, all but the blare of six AM alarms were lost on the institute's students at this very moment. The bustling rush of youths preparing for their day added a, how should we say, _extraordinary _flavor amidst a sea of _normal_. A play of light on the eye? No, that girl had just slipped through the door in lieu of wasting another five seconds swinging open the port by its useful handle. And the redhead- that hairclip had simply floated across the room into her hand! Was that steam rising off that one's bare fingers as she combed through her hair?

So maybe this house, this still place in the whirlwind of racism ripping through the city of Bayville, is not so much like any other. You know what they say about first impressions.

Shouts and calls outside the still closed door wrestled one epitome-of-the-adage out of bed with better success than her alarm clock had. Her pale, lithe body clad in conservative orange and green pajamas slid out from beneath the twisted covers. Utter dread for the coming day showed in every slow bend of her joints. The overhead light and fan had already been switched on, and a grumbled groan spoke the teenager's dislike of both. No care was given to tangled russet and white-streaked hair, nor attention to the assortment of makeup waiting on the vanity dresser. Even grace that came in time with ginger, diligent rehearsal showed in the stride that carried her directly to the door. Unlike her roommate, she was obliged to throw it open before proceeding to the washroom down the hall. Through a river of like peers the girl traveled before finally pressing through the floppy, waterproofed door. The transition from soft, trim, blue carpeting to unholy cold, white tile sent unpleasant tingles over her skin. That feeling was amplified as that ghost-like girl insisted past her, and the former shoved herself against the washroom wall to allow maximum breadth between she and the passer-by. That method became a tedious annoyance as others refused to wait for her more-than-leisure pace, and that eventually inspired some will in the girl to get a move on.

Fifteen minutes later, and wet-headed, the dissociative girl (referred to as Rogue by many a hurried, irritated housemate) marched back to her shared room and slammed shut the door. As a mountain of huff and fatigue, the girl slouched against the closed threshold and knew that the relieved feeling bought was only temporary. A hoarse hiccup of a gasp illustrated her surprise as her emerald-green eyes stumbled upon the sight of her roommate. After a split second and a hand flat to her chest, Rogue shed the look and made up a new, less wary one. "Kitty," quietly complained her southern accent, "ya' godda quit sneakin' around lahk ya' do."

The petite teen, who was hunched over on her made bed slipping on casual high heel shoes, jerked her head up as her name was called. Brunette locks gathered in a ponytail whipped around, emphasizing the likely possibility Rogue had surprised her, too. A playful expression prepped for a reply to the ring of 'same for you' softened to permit the furrow of her sharp brow. "Wow, you don't, ...like, look so good. Did the newbie keep you up all night?" Her profile came together as the light, valley girl voice fled her pink-painted lips.

Rogue shifted her weight back to her own gray-striped sock-wrapped feet with intent to cross the room and dress. A sustained groan was all she gave in the way of a reply to the bubbly brunette's question. At any rate, the disgruntled girl didn't get more than an inch away from the door before it bellowed open and popped her in the back of the head. The blow wasn't too hard but definitely had enough force to stir up Rogue's bitter spirits. The door stilled while she spun around, slightly bent with one hand to the back of her head. Taking the silvery knob, the girl threw open the port to behold the assailant.

"Speaka tha devil," she growled, sour-faced. There in the hall beyond the room stood a lad with a very figurative foot in the threshold between young man and too-old-for-high school. In more literal terms, he too was frazzled with the indications of sleep but carried the look as though hours of effort had been put forth. Earlobe-length, caramel-brown hair was tousled with one wide, tanned hand to present an impression of garish bewilderment.

"Sarry, _sha_." Like an experienced actor- or liar- he pressed impromptu sincerity into the apology. "T'ought dis waz de way to de cahbin."

A faint, squeaky, "say what?" rose from the still seated Kitty in the background.

Wild, large green eyes rolled in doubt of the excuse. "Tha cabin?" Rogue retorted impatiently.

Laughingly, he translated half-awake slang and bothered to enunciate, "de _bat'rum_."

A rigid hand leapt from the confines of the room to point a lavender nail-polished finger down the corridor. "These're dorms. _Gerl's _dorms. Go back ta yer own hall, idiot." And with that, Rogue swung back inside the room.

The Cajun got out all of, "but where's de-" before the door slammed shut in his face. A defeated sigh brushed over his well versed lips, and the young man turned to trek back down the hall. Such an air was unfitting of his tone and lanky stature, and as another group of girls strode by him, he resurrected a perfectly debonair demeanor.

Meanwhile, beyond closed doors, Rogue trudged to her wardrobe and changed clothes behind a modest standing screen. Her silhouette danced in the dim glow from the window on the adjacent wall as conversation was picked up.

"As if it's naht enough he's godda keep everyone up all nigh' movin' in, now he's bargin' inta arr bedrooms." She took her aggression out on a finicky zipper refusing to affix vest to torso.

Off-handedly, Kitty returned, "what, like, accent is that?"

"Junior hah school dropout," Rogue quipped.

"No, really."

"I dunno, whaddaya askin' me for?"

Apathy, probably incomprehensible to its user, tainted her bubbly laughter. "Of all the people here, you guys have, like, the closest sounding voices!"

"What?! We do _naht _sound alahk. Naht even a li'l. He's way more.. Ah'unno, southern Louisianan."

"Oh, yeah, definitely!" Perhaps a light bulb had gone off? "Like, New Orleans. I mean, _Na'linns._" A chipper grin brightened her features just as sudden realizations and recollections tended to do.

"Cajun?" Rogue reflected, straightening up behind the dressing screen. She drug her combat-boot clad feet to the long mirror and vanity to make up her face for the day. With eyes downcast in search for the right shade of purple eye shadow, Rogue stifled a light-hearted chuckle. "Ya, that sounds abou' righ'. Ah think Professor X said somethin' about tha bayou. So, he'sa _swamp rat._" That last part was uttered more to herself than to her roommate, but nevertheless Kitty burst into cheery giggling. The thought was cut short with a glance to the digital clock at the latter's bedside.

"Oh man, I'm late!" After grabbing up a few choice items, the valley girl darted out- no, through the door. Rogue put a slight rush on her morning routine with Kitty's words for inspiration. While the institute did offer a full repertoire of classes for children restricted to the estate, those able to attend the nearby public high school were obliged to leave around seven AM with older students able to drive. A good thirty minutes stood between then and now, but calculating in the stampede of hungry teens tearing apart the kitchen that still had to be tangoed with, Rogue anticipated a photo finish.

Right on track, Rogue shuffled down the steep steps of an obscure stairwell unused by most of the morning rushers just as a large group departed the breakfast dining area and headed for the nearest mansion exit. For those adventurous few who actually wanted to walk to school, leaving by any way other than the garage was just fine. For the porcelain-complected Mississippian, however, skipping about under an unforgiving sun was just stupid. There was the option of toting a parasol over one shoulder, but frankly she feared that'd look even worse than a tomato-red sunburn. Regardless, she was still quite sure she could bum a ride with the usual company Scott Summers took to school. That hope was smothered from a lively fire into a few glum embers upon realizing the popular senior wasn't in the nook nor the kitchen. In fact, it seemed just the nefarious Breakfast Club kids remained, along with the newest Xavier institute resident. How did fifteen minutes slip by just descending the stairs?

"Heeey, Rogue! You're up late. Or down late," energetically observed an older blonde girl perched quite unladylike on a stool at the kitchen counter. Her voice in particular stood out amongst the general ruckus mostly due to its tawdry pitch and content. One could easily speculate she grew up in a very stereotypical trailer park. Quite obvious from their position, she and the Cajun had been caught up in some kind of gossipy conference. Therefore, when her attention turned, so did his.

A fish out of water, Rogue slumped into a general, withdrawn and introverted state. When she spoke up it was with the pristine, expectant politeness used when addressing unpredictable strangers. "Uh, Tabitha, did Scott an' them leave already?" She specified the name to keep the second of the pair from piping up.

Impish contemplation was evident on the blonde's animated expression. One eye squinted and maroon-colored lips bunched up was the look she held for all of five seconds before drawing out, "I... thiiiiink soooo..." A pause gathered due to the malcontent caused. Before the goth could spin around and stomp off, Tabitha raised her voice again. "Hey! There's an open seat in the jeep, Rahne's out sick."

"When'da you guys leave?"

Sheepishly, Tabitha replied, "uhh.. seven thirty." Rogue's hapless nice-girl act dissolved with one unhappy huff. Reassuringly, the blonde tacked on with a flashed smile, "oh come on, one tardy slip ain't gonna hurt you any, girl."

Out of the blue, the Cajun interrupted, "Remy'll take ya'."

Rogue made a face. "Who?"

Promptly then, Tabitha collapsed onto the counter and buried a thoroughly painted face in her tanned, bracelet-covered arms. No one was able to speak while she howled with laughter. At length, when she'd composed herself and wiped comedy-provoked tears from her black-outlined eyes, the blonde provided airily, "he talks in third person, isn't that hilarious?" Residual, intermittent guffaws still shook her shoulders.

After weighing the pros and cons, not to mention lightly rolling her eyes at Tabitha's over-the-top amusement, Rogue reciprocated in an untrusting monotone. "Do ya even know tha way?"

With a mischievous brow quirked and a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, the young man replied, "Not far, no? It'z de leas' Remy can do to make up for earl'r." His dapper baritone complimented the girls' lighter pitched exchange, true to-the-rescue style. On second thought, the jauntiness he exuded had a lot to do with his ability to snatch up the hero's role in one fell swoop. A further demonstration of out-and-out confidence came in the form of his shoving off the kitchen counter, where his six foot or more self had been leaning over, to swagger out of the kitchen. In passing, a hand was prepped to nudge Rogue around but the girl swiftly dodged to the side. That same hand was held up, as though surrendering to the authorities without any remorse (and likely accompanied by a cheeky smile) as he proceeded toward the stairs. "Remy git de keys, den we off!"

Before he could dash away, Tabitha called after, teasing, "she's too young for you!" In the meantime, Rogue folded her arms tightly over her chest and watched narrowly as the young man disappeared. The clunk of his heavy, polished metal boots signaled his swift pace thereafter overhead.

"He doesn' plan on geddin lost in Bayville, huh? Ah bet it takes him thirdy minutes ta find his own room agen." At least no one else seemed to realize Rogue spoke to herself like this a lot. Tabitha sported more, this time controlled, snickering.

Gladly, Rogue's prediction had not become reality and five minutes later she was trailing the Cajun out the main doors. As if the risk of being late to first period didn't have her power-walking already, the shorter girl had to practically jog to keep up with Remy's quick stride. Her trek, however, soon stopped dead on the front walk. Her hesitation unnoticed, the young man pulled a batch of keys from his khaki trench coat and approached an impressively decorated motorcycle parked on the rim of the circular driveway. It was only after he'd shed that coat, stuffed it in a saddlebag, and kicked up the stand that he realized he was no longer being earnestly followed.

Remy's expression was now hidden behind a set of sheer black sunglasses to protect his disparate, red on black eyes from an unfeeling world. Still, when he turned to look, it was more than obvious he was searching for the girl as though she could have vanished into thin air. When her position became evident, he chose a simple phrase for encouragement. "You not afray, are ya?" His suspicion was genuine; if, that is, it could be estimated by voice alone. Even if she was, the self-described southern belle didn't even want to think what kind of stupid stunt he'd pull to slake her concerns. So, with a dramatically heaved, discontent sigh the girl trudged on over. As she did, Remy gave a breathless chuckle and straddled the black, leather seat. Selectively gloved fingers took the handlebars with casual prowess, and he steadied the bike so she could climb on.

More hesitation (as she stood imposing on his willfully shared personal space) was masked with a slightly furrowed, pale brow. To her benefit, the bike looked to be in good, working order. No matter how much time was spent on scrutinizing, though, the girl would feel no better around hanging onto the Cajun over the mile or so to school. "I've ridden bahkes before, swamp rat," she sniped, throwing a leg over the remainder of the elongated seat. Her balance was flawless. She managed to seat herself without laying a finger on her escort's tightly clothed body. True to her projection, however, the drive couldn't stay hands-off.

Begrudgingly, her covered hands fell over his shoulders. It seemed a little less outrageous than wrapping arms around his waist. Half-lidded eyes, meant to look uncaring and indifferent, swerved away from the driver and out onto the empty lawn. Simultaneously, Remy quietly laughed off the name calling and retaliated by releasing the reigns, seizing her hands (much to her surprise,) and pulling them around, what else, his waist. With some tooling, the girl eventually adopted a grip on his belt. It was all she could do to make him let go. "What kine'a bikes you ride, sha?" He taunted playfully over one shoulder, re-gripping the handlebars. "O' are you jus' not use to playin' passenja?"

It became apparent in the following seconds that Rogue didn't care to carry on the argument, so the engine spurred to life at the practiced turn of the key, twist of one hand, and press of the peddle. By no means was even the initial lean gentle. If he hadn't re-sorted her hands, Rogue likely would have been choking him by accident. The jolt to straighten up and then the subsequent jerk forward bargained a closer hold by the girl's cautious hands, and a less tentative lean into the driver. In the back of her mind, Rogue wondered whether or not he'd actually made it to the shower before. The flirtatious spice of his cologne overpowered the bike's unpleasant exhaust.

The actual road trip came in suit with its awkward start, although the lack of passive aggressive banter did make things a little easier. Only at breaking intervals, such as the main gate and stoplights, was there anymore conversation, and most of it had to do with which direction to take. Upon pulling up to the school, though, all those potholes and bumps they'd managed to avoid rapidly caught up. The roar of the motorcycle's approach and later purr of its idling attracted every pair of eyes on the lot, many of whom would spend the rest of the day gossiping about the devilishly handsome driver and whatever in the world he was doing giving rides to a weirdo sophomore like Rogue.

Speaking of, the southern girl was eager to dismount and reestablish her personal bubble. Her eyes never even flickered once to the courteous Cajun, instead they contented in a focused stare as she smoothed her trademark gloves and disheveled hair. As she turned on her heel, her away was interrupted. "Don' Remy gitta t'anks?" Without waiting, he tacked on reminder-style, "he drive all dis way jus' for you." It earned him a glimpse of her eyes, even if they were emphatically unimpressed.

"Yeah, whatever, thanks." And off she went, hastily, not daring to look back when the luscious hum of the motor cut off. Lucky for her, Remy wasn't in the mood to duck through school security merely to toy with her. Instead, he crossed his wrists and propped elbows on the bike's grip. Leisurely bent over the bars, he watched the girl stomp off. No one could see his devious eyes squint mirthfully as a lopsided grin crept across his face.

She wasn't late to class; nor did she risk missing anymore of Scott's carpools for the next few weeks. Time at the institute was spent as typically as possible, although a growing amount of tension was witnessed whenever the two southerners were in the same room. It became a game of cat and mouse, no matter how nonchalant or rubbery the mouse tried to be. Pent up emotions found their way into the world usually in the Danger Room. That is, extreme gym class for what the world had come to call 'mutants.' Here was the origin and credit for the Rogue's explicit equilibrium and grace. When it could go unnoticed, the harmless-looking southern belle used her physical talents against Remy. Several DR sessions reported 'INCAPACITATED' for 'Gambit' due to 'friendly fire' or 'cover fault,' much to his chagrin. Counterpoint to her strategy, it was Remy that leapt to Rogue's rescue faster and more willingly than anyone else in the war against holographic robots, lasers, and all-out apocalyptic disaster. While this plot did capture her undivided attention on several occasions, it also had the drawback of lengthy after-session lectures by institute staff. This was especially the case after placing either trainee on opposite teams only to have the young man abruptly defect and save his enemy from an attack she could have easily dodged! Despite insistence from Charles Xavier himself, the situation was only remedied by scheduling their classes separately; and moreover, purposefully CO-OPing them when entire team sessions were called.

The attention the two seemed to demand, they were given. Choice couples throughout the manor were hazed and _mocked_, and certainly enough Rogue and Remy got their fair share. If anything good came out of her relationship with the young man, it was the girl's envy and ensuing mimic of his insouciance in the face of relentless jokes, jingles, and general testament to how terrible kids can be. So many of the staff had told him to 'grow up,' it had surprised Rogue when his age had officially come out. In any case, she attributed all that self-esteem to experience and maturity and thoughtlessly strove for the same transcendence. She smirked, she narrowed her eyes, and it all rolled off without her appearing stuck up or snobbish. Of course, when Remy noticed the absence of her sullen frowns and disgruntled expressions, that nonchalant tactic didn't save Rogue from his smug, wicked eyes.

Spring showers, may flowers, and a really crowded recreation room. A wide television perched on a rolling cart stood (an undeniable magnet for youthful, impressionable eyes) in front of hazy windows. Light played across the darkened walls as the screen switched from one channel to the next, or fluxed between scenes of a particular show. Popular opinion stationed the frequency on cartoons the majority of the time, which Rogue found very little enjoyment in. Regardless, there she sat, slumped into a chair before the set with her knees bent up and head leaned in the crook of the arm and backrest. The sound of crisply shuffling cards was like nails on a chalkboard.

Wood and metal crafted together made a sturdy table, lucky for the group gathered around it as Tabitha persisted in leaning, shoving, or sitting on the thing. Other rambunctious teens carried on the same way, sitting backwards in chairs surrounding the surface, waiting for the next deal. Every once-around the table, a hoopla rose from that corner of the room as the players hollered unnecessarily loudly for Remy's attention. Accidental distraction was probably far from the truth. Rogue refused to look his way, but surely she heard the commotion and knew whyfor the group became rebellious when the dealer's chip landed in front of the Cajun.

"Dis a good show, no?" He poorly, shamelessly excused.

"You ain't watchin' the cartoons!"

"Get your mind out of the gutter."

"Get your hand out of your pants!" They fought amongst each other, played off each other's punch lines, and eventually the game went on. After the tenth round, though, it became obvious the concept was no longer abating their boredom. Therefore, when a pleasant hush fell over the crowd, the explanation was far from predictable.

"I.." A voice unlike the rest. It didn't conform and melt into the din, it split the soundscape down the center and divided it into separate, refined parts. "I am supposed to find a tour guide?" Masculine yet alto, for a boy anyway, an undeniably clean of drawl, lisp, or taint. He spoke the language woodenly, like a narrator on audiocassette that struggles to deny the twist put on words by various dialects and accents. Contrary to the sound, his look was quite outspoken and personal, as several house-dwellers judged the young man standing in the rec room's wide threshold. A soft gray, like that of an old man, colored his long, emo-styled hair, but the youth could be no older than sixteen given the immature look of his pallid face. Matching eyes stared into the open room littered with lazing kids. Most glaring, however, was the assortment of baggy, grayscale, flamboyantly patterned clothes, mesh fabric, and plastic and metal accessories- including polished, long fingernails.

While most of the room was muttering '_new freakzoid on campus_' there was but one amiable hand reaching out. "At yo' service, mon ami." The grin he offered was ruined by some unbelieving spirit that had the gall to flick a poker chip at the Cajun. A fluttering of thrown cards and monopoly money was, again, interrupted by the stranger. _(my friend)_

"Tu t'appelles comment?" _(You are called how? What is your name?)_

Some smartass chimed in, "voulez vous coucher avec moi?" Cue uproarious laughter. _(would you like to sleep with me? -_ lyric from the song Lady Marmalade.)

"Qu'est que tu fais?" _(What do you do?)_

"Fais?" _(Do?)_

"Pourquoi es-tu ici?" _(Why are you here?)_

"Co faire pas?" Remy's flippant reply was lost on the gray kid's understanding. _(Why not?)_

"You guys are talking about me, aren't cha," Tabitha broke in and ended the foreign conversation, and she was praised for it by numerous on-lookers.

"I am Minus," announced the newcomer to the room after a brief pause.

"Tabitha," submitted the babbly blonde with two raised fingers for regard.

"Plus," came from some other teen at the table. They were promptly jabbed in the side. Sputtered laughter and an off-shoot dialogue picked up in the background.

Meanwhile, the Cajun, who had gone silent, pressed a bare index finger to a poker chip and slid it across the table toward himself. With a sideward glance to affirm Minus' attention, a translucent, magenta flame burst up around the plastic disc. Wrestling teens stilled for all of five seconds. Careful concentration stared down at the chip from all angles, especially Remy's. Then, fluidly, he drew back his hand and let it fall on limply on his knee. Silence. Then _pop!_ the chip hopped nearly a foot in the air and then fell, charcoaled, to click and flutter on the table's top before gravity rendered it motionless again.

Eyes like saucers and thoroughly dazed, Minus replied, "awesome."

"No powers in the house!" One of the teens shouted tauntingly. The fake tattletale was then tackled and the scuffle-game continued. Further damage was done to that chip in the following minutes. First frozen, then thawed and melted into an ambiguous puddle, the utterly destroyed by one of Tabitha's smaller, demo bombs. A feral growl was contributed by a shape shifter, a sparkler's worth of firelight splayed from the snap of one girl's finger and thumb, and another levitated in empty air for a few seconds. Indications were given about more volatile abilities, such as one boy's split-able visage, another's solar power; and various, exaggerated descriptions were provided for the extraordinary traits of the institute's staff. For each, Minus voiced brave wonderment and admiration.

Of all the people in the room, there was but one that hadn't spoken up yet.

"Hey you, what do you do?"

Rogue, who had been watching since the first lull in chaos, gave a bitter, devious smirk. With legs swung out, the girl pushed herself out of the chair and sauntered to the table. On her way, she removed one glove, and that bare hand was held (at a safe distance) threateningly at the new kid. "If Ah were ta touch you, you'd black out and prob'ly go inta a coma."

Minus didn't even flinch. "Wow," he droned, completely star struck and punch drunk. When he moved, it wasn't to steal a few cautious steps back but rather to glance back around the room at everyone. "Man, you guys are so lucky. I would sell my soul to do anything like what you all do."

"It's naht lucky," the latest demonstrator snapped.

Minus spun around and practically glowed with all the jealousy in the world. "But you are! My gift is so lame, I will never be able to do anything really important with it. It is absolutely useless."

"You should be grateful though," Tabitha cut in. "There are a lot of people here that would give up their powers just to be like everyone else."

Not willing to dwell on a topic like that, Rogue dismissed the subject and pressed another. "What is yer power anyway?"

Minus leapt on the chance to prove his point, and the ego for it showed. "May I?" He asked politely, although he didn't exactly wait for a reply before lightly pinching Rogue's re-gloved index finger. Then, swinging around (still holding onto the southern girl in that dainty way,) the young man's lively gaze darted around the room. Decidedly, he reached to grab a water bottle on the edge of the table. Probably due to guilt of its tainted contents, Remy attempted to intercept, and succeeded. Prying at the Cajun's hands with his one helped Minus none, but soon after the younger was able to touch the plastic with one flexible finger. Bafflement blossomed over the gray kid's face as he glanced between Rogue's glove and the taken bottle. Impatiently, Rogue jerked her hand back. "That is odd... I-" was all Minus got out before a frightful scream shattered the peace. Every pair of eyes in the place shot to Rogue.

Her straight posture was ruined by a slight, tense, forward bend that angled her emerald-colored eyes downward. The girl's arms were turned up with her elbows at her sides, the perfect poise for staring, horrified, at her own hands. Those gloves. That magenta aura.

Chairs fell violently back and to the floor as students stood and scrambled away from the table. Minus was frozen in his place not two feet away from the girl while Remy stood at attention, leaned over the tabletop, with one hand outstretched instructively. "Concentra', Rogue!" Of course, collective shouts and screams chewed away at his voice. A quick, booming, "shut up!" drove enough shock into the surrounding kids that they did as were told. Again, "Focuz an' _slow down_. Pi'ture cold. Dark. Still." He went on with various euphemisms until, thankfully, the flickering, ghostly flame evaporated. She was shaking, and though some good, noble hearts stood in the audience, no one dared embrace her lest they suffer the fate her hands nearly had. The only person who had risked life and limb for her, at least virtually, before had other things on his mind. The sudden jolt of movement and sound was like an earthquake to her already rattled nerves, and the girl sunk to her knees and rear end on the carpet. It was a shame she was so preoccupied- seeing Minus dangling from his collar two feet off the ground probably would have lightened her spirits a little.

"You nearly kill ev'ry person in dis room, you know dat?"

"It is really hard to take you seriously when you talk like that," Minus tittered.

"Das all you have to say fa' you'self?!"

The gray kid waved his hands in emphatic forfeit. "I only meant to turn her glove into plastic and the bottle into fabric! I am a catalyst! It is not supposed to happen with people!"

"Jesus, Remy, let him down!"

Instead, the Cajun demanded, "fix her!"

By then, Minus had processed what the blasphemer had and he ceased his mild struggling. At least someone had paid attention during chemistry. If the gray kid could have gone paler, he would have.

"Remy, if she has your powers, then you have hers! Put him down, don't touch him!"

And so, responsibility fell on Remy as it had on Rogue moments before. Slowly, though his sharp, demonic stare never relented, he lowered the shorter young man and released his hold. It was lucky there'd been no skin-to-skin contact in grabbing him up.

"Fix it," Remy repeated caustically.

"Fix it?" Minus echoed whilst straightening his shirt. A glance swung to the severely startled girl on the floor before pinning fiercely back on the demander. "I do not even know how it happened in the first place, how am I supposed to _fix it_?"

"The professor," rasped someone, and then they sprinted out of the room and down the hall.

Those eyes, so unusual and now so uncharacteristically hateful, could have burned a hole through anybody, but Minus stood strongly. "Den you bedda figure it out, quick."

"Are you kidding? I cannot do anything right now. It would be like trying to hold onto a heated-up frying pan with your bare hands! Too many molecules jumping around way too fast, I just cannot do it!"

"Are you okay Rogue?" Tabitha finally ventured. The goth was wobbling to her feet.

"Peachy," was growled in return. The malice was for the ashen young man at whom she stared. "Yer lucky Ah'm use' ta gettin otha people's pow'rs." And just like that, Minus became public enemy number one in the eyes of all present.

"You are?"

"Duh, why do you think people black out when she touches them?" Someone spat. Minus' gaze wavered between that speaker and Rogue.

"That is probably why it got messed up, then," he explained calmly. "You should have told me that, I would not have used you."

Remy would have none of it. "Don' go shovin' de blame on her, dis your fault, Tee."

"Did you just call me _Tea_?" Even if the remark hadn't been mumbled, no mind would have been paid. A faint sound was whirring in the background of their conversation, and now it became undeniably obvious that a new presence loomed in the rec room's archway.

"Might I speak to you three in my office?" Though voiced like a question, the humbling insistence in the institute founder's tone asserted solid obligation. At first glimpse, the man (likely over fifty years old, though remarkably healthy-looking) seated in a polished, metal, motorized chair did not seem much of a power. In this case, as was the same for the whole mansion, appearances were deceiving. Minus took his cues from the other residents and showed the utmost respect. "As for the rest of you," Charles Xavier went on to say in a composed, stern voice, "house rules are to be upheld. You're all to go, now, to the atrium to meet with miss Monroe."

A collective sigh of "yes, professor," was breathed, and then the majority of the room shuffled out. After giving the remaining Rogue, Remy, and Minus an equally firm look, the older man's hand pressed a key on the arm of his chair. That gentle whirring kicked up again.

There was yet one more facet of the newcomer's mutation to surprise the institute, and it was discovered during the lengthy lecture upstairs. He was an unchangeable middleman through and through, and evidentially invulnerable to Xavier's mental probing, or at least most of it. Therefore, it was only the sixteen-year-old's doggedness that assured he was telling the truth.

"I am really, really sorry! I am sure I will be able to fix it.. someway!"

Somehow, it took the other two residents aback when Xavier replied, "calm down, it's alright. We are not so unused to people with trouble controlling their abilities. This is a school, after all."

"Professor!" Rogue and Remy yelped in unison.

"You are not going to throw me out?"

"No, that would be a very terrible thing to do," the founder declared. "This place is a sanctuary, and its doors are open to any and all. That is, as long as they adhere to our rules and put no one in danger. Things could have ended very badly downstairs." His sweeping glance tapered off between the two southerners. "It's a good thing teamwork prevailed in this instance." In the awkward silence thereafter, Rogue passed a scrutinizing glance on the Cajun, huffed, and threw her gaze back on the floor. Perfectly white bangs curtained around her pale face.

At the conclusion of the meeting, Minus received a very official, very meaningless warning. Since he was already on probation as a new recruit, there wasn't any higher for him to be placed on the spectrum of wary rankings. He was then dismissed to locate the other delinquents where ever Ororo Monroe had sent them as penalty for their misbehavior. The remaining pair of young mutants stayed in the office for psychic evaluation and a spontaneous training session to ward off slip-ups with unpracticed powers. Lastly, they too were stacked with additional chores to make up for their misconduct as per using violent abilities in the house.

One couldn't describe the rest of the day in the house as difficult, per se. It was different in a familiar way- or the same in an unfamiliar one.

Remy LeBeau, as the Xavier file called him, had his mind made up not to be disheartened or fearful of what the near or far future would bring. This led to a lack of caution, or at least the over-the-top prudence people were used to seeing from Rogue. Once the socialite centerpiece to practically all raucous fun in the mansion, the Cajun found himself sporting a ten foot (in diameter) void around his person. No one dared get too close to the usually very physical young man, despite the fact it hadn't even really been proven he'd obtained the Rogue's indiscriminate powers of absorption. Bonds and friendships weren't broken due to the change, but some were strained over the distance (the Xavier girls, especially) kept. More chummy comrades avoided touchy subject matter, too. It was becoming painfully obvious that, even if he was the most determined, self-assured male on the face of the earth, this annoyance was not going to simply bounce off a steely resolve. Bottled frustrations flared around the image of the Catalyst, as Minus had come to be codenamed. In short, Remy's decided plan was to avoid the boy altogether.

On the contrary, the Cajun's feelings toward Rogue, as she practiced and toyed with _Gambit's _kinetic influence, were mixed. There was something discomforting about watching someone else use something of one's own without asking, particularly since Rogue didn't _need _to ask. However, it was _Rogue_. That sulky girl that didn't even know the feeling of a simple hug or the shake of her hand now, though flinchingly, tapped fingers with peers infected with the southern belle's contagious excitement. Shuddered laughter tickled each participant's throat as they contacted, and then they'd quickly jerk back their hands as bravery waned. A second or two was added each new go until the other students became confident it was _for real_. Rogue was much more hesitant to believe, and that resulted in her being chased about the front parlor in the midst of disciplinary cleaning. Even when Ororo drifted by the door to check on the progress, the sight brought a warm smile to her face.

"Maybe.. de girl needda break," he remarked quietly. No, he wasn't referring to chores. For this reason, Remy was doubly diligent in appearing unfazed with the sudden turn of events. After all, how long could it last?

Off-putting, though, was Minus' enjoyment in Rogue's newfound freedom. It would seem the doer of deeds didn't have the right to smile as silver-linings made themselves apparent, but he did anyway. In fact, he carried on as though nothing had even occurred. Obviously, anyone in his shoes would want to put a mistake like that in the past and leave it there. The majority of institute residents didn't hold a grudge that long, fortunately for him.

Usually Rogue wasn't lumped in with that bunch of live-and-learners, but how could she be mad at him? What'd she expect him to say: 'sorry for giving you what you've always wanted?' The only bad spirits in her stirred when her eyes slipped over Remy's lonesome self. She felt, disgusted to admit it, sorry for him. This is what the world calls empathy, but Rogue refused to let a few feelings of ridiculous guilt change her perception of the smug, incorrigible Cajun.

By contrast, dinner was _quite _awkward. Normally Rogue was in no hurry to make it down for mealtimes, but tonight she found herself breezing into the cafeteria with a group of housemates. It surprised her to see the place temporarily empty. She'd never been first to dine. In any case, this is what started the trouble. In the southern belle's neglect of routine, she gave up her choice of who she wanted to sit with- or rather, who she preferred to sit with her. Remy stole the chair beside her not five minutes after she'd settled down with her plate. The towering, dark wall rising just behind their chairs hung a pressing, almost claustrophobically trapped sensation over the girl's head.

"Mo cha-" his hand moved fluidly over his mouth to wipe away an automatic, incomprehensible language. "What happen' to dat merry face o' yours, sha?" Well, that did nothing to earn said 'merry face' back. Rogue pressed her lips and studied the young man over, contemplating being nice for once. In the end, she resolved to compromise.

"Wha' does that mean, anyway? _Sha_."

"Sha?" He took up a deeper, cleaner accent. "C'est _chère_." _(It's)_

"Like the singer?"

"Say-Ach-Ih-Air-Ih." He traced invisible letters on the tablecloth.

By this time, other nearby students were curiously eavesdropping on the crude French lesson. Someone produced stationery and scribbled the word. It was offered to Remy and he sternly shook his head and demanded the pen. The helpful peer balked initially at the Cajun's out stretched hand, but at length (and before Remy's red on black eyes could glance up at the delay) he was handed the utensil. After scratching out the first spelling, he scrawled in his own bold, curvy, tall lettering: C-H-È-R-E. It was tried on several tongues while Tabitha inquired, "what's it mean?"

"It is a term of endearment," Minus announced as he placed himself adjacent to Rogue on the other side of the table. With a precocious look of half-lidded eyes and an arched brow, he explained, "like . . . precious, dear." The audience sniggered all around, Rogue loudly huffed and centered a dismayed stare on her plate, and Remy's suave, unabashed expression pinned on Minus. "You are not from France, are you?"

"How'd ja guezz?" It was practically an insult, as though that fact had been blaringly obvious from the start.

"Canada?"

"_Louisiana_." His voice formed the word rather musically.

"Oh," Minus observed with a plain, understanding nod. "That explains a lot." The table fell silent for a second after the boy's not-so-polite (if one read between the lines) comment. That was, until Rogue failed to contain her laughter any longer. The rest of the kids quickly joined in, sans Minus, and Remy propped an elbow on the table and twisted toward Rogue.

"Mais, at leas' you're smilin' again."

"So, what does _Tee _mean?" interrupted Minus expectantly.

"_Petit_," replied Remy sharply, enunciating the last syllable: 'tee.' _(little/junior)_

"Touché. You are Acadian, huh."

His patience was impeccable but wear-and-tear was beginning to show. "Ouais." _(yeah)_

Thankfully, Tabitha cut in, "where are _you _from, Hoary?"

"Jersey," Minus replied humbly without looking up from where he twiddled with his silverware.

"_New _Jersey?"

"De isle," Remy corrected. Eyes alight like tinsel, he observed, "das why he talk so rigidly."

"English is a difficult language," he submitted with a meek grin. "I am not so great with informals. Je préférerais parler la Français." _(I would prefer to speak French.)_

"Aucune chance, Remy, il est le seul l'un." _(No luck, Remy, he is the only one.)_

"Nous devons enseigner une classe!"_(We should teach a class!)_

"Stooooop it," nearby Tabitha whined. "Speak American!" Taunting of her choice of words followed fast. The ensuing pandemonium only, briefly, faltered when one student pushed out her chair, stood, and marched off. Remy, who had neglected fetching food in the first place, leapt up and trailed her into the main hall after the girl had left her plate in the respective cradle.

"Don' folla me, swamp rat," Rogue called over her shoulder.

He excused flawlessly, "Remy jus' happen' ta be headed dis way, sha." A few quick, long strides and he'd caught up to her; at which point he tapped a bare finger on her covered, right shoulder and dodged around to the girl's left side. She had to do an entire about-face to find him again.

"Are you crazeh, Cajun?" The girl barked, cupping the offended shoulder with her opposing hand. "Yer not suppose' ta touch enyone, remembah?! Put some gloves on fer cryin' out loud."

"Don' worry sha, Remy's carefu'. No harm done, eh?"

Apparently so. "_Ah _waz careful an' still a lotta people got hert. _Ah _lived with those pow'rs fer years, therefore _Ah _know what Ah'm talkin' about!"

"Okay, okay," he surrendered, weaving his hands behind his back. "Since de fille iz so adama't."

"Wouldja quit with tha French already? It's rude when nobody knows what yer talkin' about."

He grinned. "Remy give you private lessons if ya like." In response, vibrant green eyes were rolled. Rogue huffed loudly, spun, and stomped off toward the stairs. "Pour marcher! Monter! Partir!" He narrated her leave brokenly. "Mon Dieu. Whadda har'breaker." _(To walk! Climb! Leave! My God.)_

* * *

**Author's Notes **- Some things I wanted to comment on upon retrospection.

_Before the goth could spin around and stomp off, Tabitha raised her voice again. "Hey! There's an open seat in the jeep, Rahne's out sick."_  
Does Tabitha even have a jeep? She stole Lance Alvers' a few times during the series, so I'd think not. However, in Day of Reckoning she drives the jeep to Xavier's institute. In the episode previous (The HeX Factor) Mystique ousted Tabby from the house and she was observed walking away. As far as the jeep being at the Brotherhood house later, I have no idea. Anybody?

_Thankfully, Tabitha cut in, "where are you from, Hoary?"  
"Jersey," Minus replied humbly without looking up from where he twiddled with his silverware._  
I don't think anybody'll catch me on this, but I'll come clean anyway! In Jersey, the "native" language (becoming extinct now, as I understand) is Jèrriais, "Norman French." Given modern-day standings, a person coming from Jersey would probably speak fluent English, including informals and slang. And they might not even speak French like Minus does. Heh heh. I'll allege that Minus grew up in the rural countryside to keep things straight, though that's really got nothing to do with this story.


	2. Chain Reaction

Mock Me

06.02.07 - 06.03.07

an X-Men:Evo FanFic

**FOREWORD** --- See chapter one for disclaimer, setting, and author's notes.

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CHAPTER TWO - Chain Reaction

Sunrise came a little later the next morning. Peculiarities became evident from the first _tick _of six thirty AM as declared by the old grandfather clock in the main entry hall. A bouncy sixteen year old by the name of Kitty Pryde startled her entire hall awake with a brief shriek of surprise when her sleepy, blue eyes found someone wandering her room at the early hour. Rogue was already up and dressed? And the sun hadn't even cleared the horizon. Counterpoint to the southern belle's vigor for a new day, a muffled _boom! _from the male dormitories announced Remy's lack of interest in early rising. The feeling wasn't shared by his roommate who quickly vacated the quarters lest alarm clocks weren't the only thing in line to be thrown about the room. It wasn't so much that the day held little promise for him; rather, the Cajun was procrastinating picking out suitable attire. Keeping his hands to himself was all fine and good when he could shrug his shoulders at any fearful passers-by, but donning gloves and long sleeves was just demeaning. He wasn't going to roll over and accept Minus' little 'mistake.'

For the first time in a long while, the two southerners did not run into one another during their morning routines. Remy was inclined to avoid her on account of the girl upsetting at the sight of him gloveless; and, Rogue buzzed down to the kitchen so early Remy would not have had the chance to catch her if he'd been trying. She, along with even the last-to-leave students of the institute, were long gone by the time the Cajun trudged downstairs. In place of everyone else, two lonesome people lingered at the kitchen counter. Kitty had a glum look about her, and the reason could be explained via the monstrous, blue furred, ape-like hand gently touching her forehead.

"I don't think you have a fever," said the beastly fellow. If one has yet to grasp the motif ebbing throughout this walk of life, it will be stated now Doctor Hank McCoy's appearance belied his inner self. That hand he had extended drew back to rest on the countertop along side the mug of coffee he was nursing.

A sigh quietly illustrated the girl's unease.

"What'sa matta petite?" As per usual, Remy seated himself beside the most feminine thing in the room. _Seated _was an understatement in all honesty. A graceful hand came up beneath the seat of a stool, pulled it back, and the young man settled down as though he owned the place.

"I dunno." Her voice was practically drenched with melancholy. "I guess I'm kind of worried about Rogue. Then again, there is that biology test today.." Regretfully, she made light of the issue.

The other two members of the trio exchanged looks. Conclusively, Hank softly replied, "in either case, there's not much good you can do moping around the institute, is there?" As the girl nodded admissibly, she tried to smile. "Rogue has a good head on her shoulders, and so do you." This is about the time fluttery harps and flutes should play in the background and sunlight streaks into the room to alight renewed spirits.

Instead, Remy fell through the floor. Kitty, on the other hand, collapsed with a sickening _clunk _on the countertop. She likely would have slipped out of her chair had Hank not been so acrobatic in vaulting over the island to catch her. A final note of breaking glass and the drip of spilt coffee ended the scene.

An eerie roaring sound clean of echo caught Jean Grey by surprise as she traversed the subbasement. Given the condition of the wide, metal halls, usually the far off chatter of persons moving about the underground Xavier headquarters had a musical resonance that denoted them as present. The redheaded psychic had to halt in her stride and peer with narrow eyes all around her in order to decide this sound she heard was not on a telepathic wavelength. What, then?

As the noise became louder and closer, Jean's intellect zeroed in. A few quick, running strides took her to the edge of the corridor where she prepped and stood stone still. In a matter of nanoseconds her answer came phasing, and falling at rapid speed, through the ceiling. A flail of hands and flex of posture later and the young woman had the Cajun in her hold. A telekinetic hold, that is. His yelling ceased belatedly when wide, horror-struck eyes processed the rescue. Panting and still quite stiff, all he could think to say was a hoarse, "merci!" _(thank you)_

"No problem," Jean replied with marked curiosity in her tone. A quirk of her brow suggested she looked forward to an explanation. First things first, though. "Can you stand?"

"Don' t'ink das a good idea," he replied swiftly as he was lowered toward the ground. He flailed his feet as though he'd be able to swim away from the chrome surfaces. Regardless, the soles of his boots eventually neared enough to touch down. The heroic psychic waited to make sure the young man would not simply fall through again before leaving him to his own weight.

"Hold that thought," was the cryptic instruction she gave before switching her focus. Telepathically, she summoned Xavier's attention.

Remy wasn't expecting anyone else to solve this problem, though. While Jean carried on a conversation without the use of her voice, the Cajun tentatively slid one foot forward on the floor. Pressure was applied in anticipation of a quicksand-like result before he shifted his weight entirely. Solid. The second step behind that one left the ground. When his sole came down again, it was much like walking off the edge of the Earth. Attentive Jean caught sight of the young man's thrashing arms (as he was trying to find his balance again, and tip back to that first foot) and threw up a hand and, thereby, a psychic net. The index finger of that outstretched hand wagged. "Ah ah ah," she warned light-heartedly.

On second thought, maybe he just ought to wait it out?

That was far from advised, as explained to him later by Charles Xavier. The Rogue's powers did tend to fade over time, but there was no way the young man would be able to stand perfectly still for a week or more, waiting. Therefore, it only made sense to spend the remainder of the morning in the founder's office finding control of these newly obtained abilities. Along with that, as a precautionary measure Remy was barred from leaving the institute estate, restricted from training, and relieved of DR assignments.

"Ahh," he groaned to himself after finally earning a moment alone. "Shoulda jus' put on de damn gloves."

- -- ----- -- -

Overcast skies brought Rogue outside for lunch, which was good because she really wasn't dressed for the cooler climate inside the school. It seemed someone had kidnapped that conservative, prude girl during the night and left a daring, spotlight-craving young woman in her place. Never mind the beauty of black denim overalls suspended on pale shoulders, nor the green and gray striped tank top that bared her midriff. It was the brazen, black-lipped smile that provoked stares from all directions. Unfortunately, a change in wardrobe didn't erase her long-standing social reputation as a black sheep, so to speak. For this reason, Rogue parked herself beneath a shady oak tree on the lawn around the picnic tables to eat. A small meal was made quick work of, leaving the girl plenty of downtime before the bell rang for the start of the next class. When the intrigued looks subsided, Rogue found some lonesome time to toy with Gambit's power.

Quite unlike Remy, Rogue picked up control of new abilities quickly, as it had become second nature to do so. Aside from that, while hyper-kinetics could be very dangerous, the southern girl had little trouble avoiding the prerequisites when she needed to. Who else could be better versed in steering clear of physical contact? At any rate, she killed time by igniting already-dead leaves and watching them burst in minimal, silent explosions. A certain nosey Nightcrawler soon spoiled her fun.

"Yikes, Rogue!" The German accent was a dead giveaway. Luckily for the cobalt-blue, impish character, his image-inducer masked his physical nature, if not his ethnic one. "Vot are you thinkeng?"

"What," she drawled with deflated expectations, "are ya gonna tattle on me?"

"Not me!" He fervently excused. "Vot ef someone saw you?!"

"Fat chance."

"No powers," he insisted with wide, prodding eyes.

"Fahn." A shrug of her bare shoulders dropped the argument.

"By the vay," he tacked on in the delay during his turning to move on, "'ave you seen Ketty?"

"Er. She din' rahd with us this mornin'. Ah din' see her in English eitha. Maybe she stayed back at tha mansion?"

A thoughtful "hmm" played on the lad's tongue as he strode off.

The metallic ring of rusted bells is a corrosive sound, especially through the minds of chatterbox students. Too many kids had more intent to horse around rather than wolf down sugar-coated snacks and scrawl a finish to left-to-the-last-second homework. Shouts of determined rendezvous plans carried out over the lawn while Rogue sorted her belongings, stood, and brushed off. Being quite used to traveling alone, it was no wonder why, when her name _was _called out, the callous goth didn't take notice. The thing that did finally earn her attention was the electric shock to her nerves when a hand fell over her shoulder. Of course she winced, reacting to the memory of sorry consequences rather than actual ones. When she finally could focus again, her emerald-green eyes found yet another housemate standing there, unfaltering.

"_Sick _outfit," Tabitha exclaimed. The tone used denoted the remark as a compliment. _Kids these days_. "You crushing on the geometry teach' or somethin', Rogue?"

"Ah don' even take geo," she smoothly countered.

"Shame," the blonde tsked. "He'sa real hottie." Beaming like the spokesperson for all bad influence, the seventeen-year-old went on gingerly, "sooo. Go for Panny?"

She shook her head. "Panny?"

"Hooky, then?"

"Oh.. Ah've got class," Rogue replied tentatively, turning to head for the building. Before she could get too far, Tabitha looped an arm around the girl's shoulders.

"Come ooon," crooned the errant junior. "You did not get all decked out like that just to sit in some classroom all afternoon, right? It's just one hour, we'll paint the town red and make it back in time for fifth." Uncertain, green eyes dithered between each route. After the pause for choosing, Tabitha added tactfully, "live a little."

A coy grin seeped through Rogue's usually steely resolve. "Ah guess they prob'ly won' notice one miss'd class."

"Atta girl!" A constricting, half-way hug indicated the end of their physical contact, if only for a moment. Tabitha slipped away but made sure to grab her tag-along's wrist before dashing toward the parking lot.

- -- ----- -- -

The end of the day at Bayville High didn't see either delinquent again. Apparently, while on their unscheduled vacation they'd cemented a tighter friendship. They returned to the mansion just as the sun touched down on the Earth in the west. Unafraid jabs and prods as they marched one along side the other through the main doors inaugurated the standoffish goth as part of the Xavier new recruit's cliquey inner circle. The afterglow of wholesome, or perhaps not so wholesome, fun was disturbed by a certain gray kid perched high on the indoor, second story balcony overlooking the foyer.

"Everyone has been worried." Judging by his expression, 'everyone' included all but himself. Minus didn't look too surprised to see Rogue stumble in so far out of the ordinary. While the young man descended the swooping, curled stairs, the former girl's smirk faded while the other's widened.

"Heya Hoary," the blonde saluted singsong. A gentle, chest-high wave was reciprocated.

"Whigh?"

"Why, indeed," he played back. A territorial, forward lean bent his five foot, eight inch height over the end of the banister. "I have heard some strange accusations today. _Magneto. Mystique. Trask. _Never '_maybe she just skipped out._'"

"Aw, Hoary. Don't tell me you're gonna snitch on us."

"What'sit madder," Rogue huffed, finding her personal space again. Arms crossed over her chest and frown applied, all evidence of earlier good times were quickly gone. "They already noticed we were missin'." Minus gave a unworried, sympathetic nod. Tabitha pouted.

"Well, these are just the speculations of our peers. It is not as if Xavier sent out a search party. I think he will understand the situation when it is explained."

"Who'z been speculatin'?" Rogue's interest was piqued. She already had a few good guesses.

A strained, contemplative look washed over the young man's usually placid features. "Names escape me. The blue boy?"

"Kurt. Fig'ers. Prob'ly thought metalhead snatched us afta he got Kitty."

"Remy got Kitty," Minus offered plainly.

Tabitha bristled. Wide eyes and raised brows demanded elaboration. "Try that again," she prompted.

The gray kid raised one hand in the air and flexed the fingers like that of a crane in one of those fifty-cent-toy gambling machines. The result was a simple movement that touched index finger to thumb, at which point he provided the narration, "zap."

Rogue fumed. "Tha' idiot! Where'z Kitty? Is she alrigh'?" A few quick steps started her in the direction of the main hall.

"Infirmary, I believe," Minus replied nonchalantly. "She is alright, I am sure. But..." His voice trailed off and a sullenness fell over his form. Rogue's away hesitated.

"What?" Tabitha inquired a little impatiently.

"If I had not come here.."

"It ain't you," Rogue retorted, still quite enthralled in a fuss. "It's that damn swamp rat's fault. Ah told him if he played with fiyer he was gonna git burned. He's too thick fer his own good!"

Minus moved smoothly between emotions. "Oh, I think he is not so bad." An uncomfortable silence spilt over the foyer and the gray kid quickly moved to save the conversation. "Well, he does come off a little conceited. But people say I am pretentious. Really, I am envious of him." His candid manner pasted a perplexed look on each girl in his company. A quizzical look was shot across the room between the feminine pair. Nervous laughter ensued. "Maybe I am just jealous of his mutation, then."

"Ingrate," Tabitha reprimanded wearing a lopsided frown. Déjà vu.

"Have not you ever once hated how your power manifested?" He kept his eyes on Tabitha. To ask Rogue that would simply be faux pas.

"Because of how people wanna use me, _not _because I think it's '_lame_.'"

With a listless look and debasing voice, Minus replied, "and what am I? A mere tool _meant _to be used." A sigh was imparted, after a short while, on the boy's behalf via painted maroon lips. Having gained Tabitha's pity, Minus went on. "Rogue, I have a favor to ask of you."

"Yer not in tha positi'n ta be askin' favers." She wasn't overly malicious about stating her piece; rather, she was pointing out the obvious. He already owed the institute a lot, not the other way around.

"I know," he admitted quietly. "But I think this concept may be favorable for all in the long run." The southern belle pressed her lips, shifted her weight, and placed her hands on her hips. She didn't have to wait long before Minus got the hint. "I have a hypothesis. If I am correct, when I attempt to return Remy and yourself to your original states, we may be able to negate my mutation permanently."

All the edgy defense in Rogue's expression melted away. Both she and Tabitha stared back at the young man, their blank eyes searching for answers that weren't written on Minus' vacant visage. At length, the gray youth hung and gently shook his head. "It still surprises you after everything I have said."

"Listen, Minus," Rogue began pensively. "What tha professor said was righ', this isa place fer learnin'. Ah don' think givin' up yer powers... is tha bes' thing. But when tha time comes, Ah guess we gotta respect yer wishes."

"Thanks, Rogue. I knew you would understand."

In reply, the jaded goth gave a quick, lackluster smile. She was a second away starting toward the elevator when that telltale draft hit the back of her eyes.

_Rogue, my office, please._ Xavier's telepathy. No wonder the mansion didn't have an intercom system. Biting back a feeling of dread, the girl's sights flickered up to Tabitha. Judging by the confused, concerned look, it could be estimated the professor had not called on the blonde as well. That was probably a very bad sign. A small sigh signaled life in the room again, and Rogue turned to trudge off.

A quick visit to the infirmary to check on her roommate was foregone. Instead, the southern belle's combat boot-clad feet steered her into the founder's chamber. Her eyes were kept to the floor as she opened the door, moved in, and carefully, quietly shut the port behind herself. When she found the courage to look up, the sight wasn't what she expected. Not only Xavier waited in the clean, professional space.

"Logan?" Squinted green eyes tried to interpret his presence and the meaning for it at the same time. Before her entry, however, it had been decided that Xavier would have the first words out. Therefore, the burly, hirsute man leaning against the corner of the desk stayed silent even at the mention of his name.

"Rogue, you know why you're here," reminded- or rather, assured- the professor with a knowing glance. Meanwhile, the girl adopted a compact poise with hands shoved in her overalls' pockets.

"Ah'm sorry prafesser. Ah don' know what got inta me."

"It's that Cajun's psyche," Logan said. Or, growled. Not to imply he was overly upset, but rather he simply spoke with a hoarse, almost carnal accent. It was a credit to his codename, _Wolverine_.

"No, I don't believe it is," interjected the professor. "The Catalyst's ability does not seem to have altered Rogue nor Gambit's mental state- just their DNA, as it were."

"It was mah fault. Ah ditched school. It din' have nothin' ta do with the whole Catalyst thing."

"On the contrary, Rogue-"

"Charles." Again with the growling.

"I understand what you're feeling. We were all young, once." A sweeping, soft gesture of one hand entailed the whole room, if not the whole school and all its staff. "However, you need not feel as though this hiatus from uncontrollable abilities is temporary. With continued practice and training, you will be able to harness your absorption power. Therefore, you know you should not feel pressed to _live-it-up_ in these short days."

As teens put on the spot tend to do, Rogue locked up and refused to respond to such unfeeling statements. In the awkward, for herself and Logan at least, pause thereafter, all she could think to do to clear the air was submit a simple nod.

"And kid, if anybody's thinkin' about touching you, you know they gotta go through _me _first." Logan's gruff voice put an odd key on the spectrum of protective comforts. Since Rogue was more or less without parents, _real _parents in this sense, the man's willingness to step-in was, in itself, supportive.

With an embarrassed hand on the back of her neck and lazy blush about her pale face, Rogue mumbled a shaky, "yeah."

"That's all," Xavier concluded. Rogue twisted to leave but doubled back. Before she could get any words out, the professor replied, "Kitty is doing fine. Go see her, if you like."

"And don't go getting any ideas even if you do have your dorm to yourself tonight," warned the guttural third party.

Offended, Rogue shrieked, "Logan!"

Before anymore of an argument could get underway, a tenseness descended on the room. Xavier's closed eyes and furrowed brow were glaring red flags. After several, eternity-long seconds, the telepath's troubled, commanding voice announced simply, "it's Storm." As if on cue, thunder cracked at an immensely high, eardrum-trying volume. It shook the entire mansion.

Logan and Rogue burst out of the chamber and bolted down the hall, full tilt. Various residents pooled on the final steps of the staircases throughout the front of the house. Those that had been on the ground floor and witnessed the event were petrified, mostly. The previously mentioned duo had to shove them aside to get through to the atrium. The sea of students quickly became literal. The slosh of water alarmed both young woman and the man as their shoes thudded across damp, red carpeting and then into the full-out flooded foyer. A sharp turn or two later, and in a nearly knee-high current, they reached the scene.

Windows in the front wall were broken, allowing a torrent of rainwater to cascade into the sitting room. Bits and pieces of hazardous glass nicked clothing and skin, and it made the going a lot more difficult for Rogue. Logan, on the other hand, had his hyper-healing ability to rely on as he maneuvered through the room. His plan of action quickly bulleted snatching the unconscious Ororo from her aimless floating in the rapid waters. A _kachink! _of Adamantium claws and a crash of solid wood and drywall later, Logan had affixed himself to a wall and stood, holding the weather witch above the current.

"Rogue!" He howled over the gap that'd formed between them. His directive wasn't needed, however. Years of rigorous training prepared the girl to quickly sort her objective. Unlike the Wolverine, though, she had not the strength to fight against the floodwaters. Therefore, Rogue navigated across still-standing furniture. Thank mercy for Charles' taste in heavy chairs and coffee tables. Of course, when she'd actually closed in on the tempestuous Remy, it was too late for her sudden recollection that old tactics were not going to work in this situation. Obviously she had planned to tap him on bared skin and that'd be that. But no, that would be the worst possible mistake she could make right now.

In the following absence of plan, Rogue elected to holler. "Ah know Ah called ya swamp rat bafore, but Ah don' think thisiz what Xavier meant when he said make ya'self at home!" As far as her voice being able to penetrate the wall of cyclone-like water enveloping the Cajun's blurred form, Rogue had no idea. Not willing to wait and find out (or else continue shouting into a hurricane, so to speak), the girl grabbed a nearby lamp and ripped its cord from the wall.

In all honesty, she'd meant to whack him with it. Instead, there was a brief spark beneath the water as the active circuit between plug and outlet was strained and broken. Shouts and screams from down the hall made evident the damage. Logan snarled against the momentary, snapping pain in his soaked legs. Most thankful of all, however, was the abrupt relent and crash of the watery cyclone in the middle of the parlor. Remy wobbled, then plunked down on his hands and knees in the suddenly stagnant lake/room.

"Remy! Are ya' alrigh'?!" Did that just come from _her _mouth?

At a snail's pace, the Cajun moved to glance over at the girl. "Sha?"

Previous concerns evaporated as soon as it was obvious he was alive and well. "Ah tol' ya ta put on gloves!" the accidental heroine screeched.

Obviously aching, the young man leaned back and drew his hands out of the water to present them to the chastiser. Black, leather gloves had been torn by passing glass, but they were there nonetheless. The swish and slosh of water pronounced Logan's away with Ororo. Other staff were tending to electrocuted students if one listened closely enough.

"Well, what tha hell were ya doin' ta Storm then!?"

He groaned and put one of those available hands to his head. "Remy dunno, sha. T'ink maybe Stormy bumpt inta him de wrong way." More deflated slouching and exhaustion had him sitting there on the flooded floor. Rogue's expert eyes rolled over his figure. Upon closer inspection, there were some weaknesses in his garb that could have caused the mess. Though he did wear his trademark trench coat, the shirt beneath didn't have a collar. On top of that, the condition in the house wasn't meant for layered clothing, so he could have had his sleeves rolled up. Or it could have been a mundane slip-up, like pulling the edge of his shirt up to dry his mouth or hands after running the sink.

"Git up," she commanded in a pitch a little higher than usual. "Tha electricity is still on an' Ah'm not in tha mood fer fried Cajun."

"Ah, Rogue, Remy knew ya cared."

With eyes darting to find a suitable path back toward the atrium, Rogue countered harshly, "don' ya eva git tired of listenin' to yerself?"

"Not when Remy's talkin' 'bout _you_, sha."

The lewd noise of shifting water became a broken record, and that wasn't to mention the continued downpour going on outside. With precautions in mind, when the duo did finally reach the front foyer, Remy parted with his guide unceremoniously. It was only the whoosh and swirl of water that alerted Rogue she was quickly becoming alone. A swing around provided the sight of the Cajun forcing the main doors (whose glass had managed to withstand the current) open. As they gave, the lake rushed out of the mansion and into the front gardens. With a languid, sullen pace to carry him, Remy went, too.

Rogue caught up with him on the stone brim of the decorated fountain in the courtyard. That lavish attire she'd spent so much of the sunrise picking out was now thoroughly drenched with disrespectful deluge. The familiarity she felt like goose-bumps crawling across her skin devastated all effort to be mad at the Cajun. After all, she'd had her troubles with Storm's power, too. So, with thumbs hung inside constricting pockets, the southern girl stood with downcast eyes a few feet from her twenty-year-old admirer. Well, it was practically miles apart, given the circumstance.

"Pi'ture cold. Dark. Still," she mocked in a murmur.

Glancing up, he observed her rather spellbound. "Dis iz new." She rolled her eyes, the end result being a contemplative glance back toward the mansion.

Wiping the rain from her face, Rogue heaved a sigh and swung around to sit on the rim of the fountain, too. A noticeably wide gap was spread between them. Regardless, the rainstorm lightened up to a mere drizzle.

"Ugh. Today waz horr'ble," she determined in a rough, low voice. Additional sway of sound was credit her hanging head in her hands. Pale fingers combed back white-streaked bangs until her fingertips found a stable point to dig into her scalp.

"You can say dat agen."

Silence was a funny thing. In the darkness of an encroaching night and in the pooling glow of mansion lights, two figures sat motionless. Not forty-eight hours ago, each stood on his and her own planet, light years away from the rest of the galaxy. Now their company, which had been so artificial before, embraced an intimacy few people ever really shared: empathy.

"Minus sayz he'z jealous of ya. Or, ya pow'rs at leas'." Thunder rumbled overhead. Rogue swiftly uttered a "nevermin'."

After a time, Remy responded anew. "Cain't imagine whad'id be like, like dis, for.."

"Don' rub it en," she muttered.

"Mo chagren."

"What'id Ah tell ya about-"

"_Désolé, ma cherie_." He'd wait until she straightened to stare daggers at him before going on in a most matter-of-fact, tender voice, "meanz sarry, Rogue."

Rejection was evident in the screwing up of her face. "Whatter you apologizin' ta me for," she countered as though the previous conversation had gone up in smoke. "It's mah pow'r that cauzed all this."

"Non," he nearly shouted. "Dis de Catalyst's fault. You know dat."

"It's mah responsibiliteh ta make sure nobody touches me, not even through mah clothes!"

"Aw, sha, dat ain't right." It was more a reply in defeat than anything else. The last kingdom in the world had its final treasure stolen away.

"Whadda you care?" That was a little bit below the belt, and the dismal squeal in her southern accent added a twist to the embedded sword. "As if _you _could do anythin'. Ignorin' tha fact Xavier would throw ya in jail, Logan would eat'cha fer breakfast."

Like the dog he was, Remy poked at the chink in her armor with a daring smirk. "So ya've t'ought dis out, eh?" There was really no retort given other than a hearty, gurgled growl. The girl hastily threw her weight to her feet and began stomping off.

As a last resort to regain her attention, the Cajun pried. "De kids, dey been sayin' t'ings 'bout cha." That secured her eyes back toward him, although at the price of them harboring a fierce air. Rogue discovered the young man's devilish eyes exploring her strangely (for her, anyway) clad figure.

"Wha'd they say," she barked, crossing her arms over her chest as though they could be a shield.

"You ran off wit' dat Boom-Boom gerl inta de city, eh?"

"As if it's eny of yer bizness."

He attempted a huffed laugh. It didn't quite work out. "Remy jus' lookin' to disprove de rumers iz all, sha. He don' t'ink you'd do anyt'ing stupi-"

"Whigh," she interrupted loudly, "does ev'ryone think jus' 'cause Ah can touch, Ah'm gonna turn inta a harlot?!" Peculiar that she'd choose a French term for this point, although on her tongue it came out more to the tune of 'harlit.'

Taken aback was putting it lightly. Remy nearly fell into the fountain. Hands were waved to abate the girl's upset. "Alors pas! Whoa-whoa, Remy din' say dat. Zut, nobody said dat!" _(of course not)(damn)_

Despite his profuse, ardent excusal, Rogue darted across the lawn and into the house. During their conversation some staff had toggled the breaker and shut down the electricity for the front of the ground floor. Now, deviant, red on black eyes watched with diligent attention until the girl had disappeared down the darkened main hall.

She didn't stop, even at the calls of concerned staff requesting knowledge on the condition of both 'Rogue' and 'Gambit.' Up the damp stairs and through the corridors, her sprint only ceased when she could collapse face down in her own, cold bed. Even if Kitty was staying the night in the infirmary, Rogue couldn't find a moment's peace alone. Pin-prick rain on the windows couldn't be shut out even when she tightly wrapped a pillow about her ears.

And it stormed all night.

- -- ----- -- -

After remarking on the severe malcontent experienced by Rogue the previous night, it wasn't too much a wonder that the goth was absent from the new day's classes. Along with her, Tabitha Smith and a few other choice derelicts skipped school to repeat their previous offenses.

The rain had relented sometime around dawn which was, in truth, about the time the Cajun fell asleep in the gazebo. Upon awakening to the rumble of morning engines, the weather witch's powers seemed to have weakened. At least, they had enough that Remy felt alright to reenter the mansion. By some miracle, he'd managed not to sicken himself by staying out all night. The sight waiting for him within the kitchen, however, sullied his spirits just as well.

"Tu ne fais pas aller à l'école, hein?" _(You don't go to school, do you?)_

Minus was briskly ignored. Remy swept through the kitchen and jerked open one of the gigantic refrigerators. By the time he'd fetched something and closed it, the Jersey youth had relocated to the island counter and was staring, expecting eventual acknowledgement, with a bright smile about his face. Without glancing up at the kid, the Cajun dropped onto a stool and smashed an egg against the countertop. Luckily, it was hardboiled. Without any regard for hygiene, the young man began picking through the pieces and shoving selections past his lips.

"Joli," Minus quipped sarcastically. _(Lovely)_

Remy eventually retorted snidely, "it mus' be, Tee keep' watchin'." Awkward, airy laughter fought the claim.

"Bavarder avec Rogue?" _(Talk with Rogue?)_

Silence.

"Hein?" _(Eh?)_

Sharply narrowed, red on black eyes were raised to burn on the kid's face. "Co faire?" The Cajun growled. There wasn't too much interest behind the question. _(Why?)_

"... Je ne comprends pas." _(I don't understand.)_

"Den shuttup."

"Pourquoi faire ne tu m'aime pas? Qu'a fait je fais?" _(Why don't you like me? What did I do?)_

By that time, Remy had finished cleaning the table. Despite not being the least bit sated, he didn't exactly have the stomach to sit through further prodding by the Frenchmen. After wiping the surface with a soapy cloth from the sink, Remy moved for the main hall. He was, of course, trailed.

"Réspondre! Or are you not a man?" _(answer!)_

Well, that stopped him. _Clunk! _his metal boots on the deep wood, followed by progressive thuds after Remy did an about-face and drew closer. The height difference was blaringly obvious. Minus had to be crazy. "Rogue sayz ya' jel-az." By deduction (that was, calculating the reason behind Minus' curiosity), it didn't surprise Remy that the boy smiled in the face of the accusation. "But, Remy know yo'r up to somet'ing. An' he know how to prove it ta Xavier." While he spoke, the Cajun removed a ruined leather glove; and now he raised a bare, tanned, knotty hand up to the younger male's face.

Minus laughed. At the same time, however, he drew back a few steps. One of his own pallid hands draped elegantly over his expression as it contorted with riotous hilarity. He didn't take more than a few seconds to collect himself again, almost as though it'd been an act. "Oh yes, the talented monsieur LeBeau should take _my _power!" Rude giggling fragmented the thought. "Nice rainstorm last night, huh? You should be lucky not to turn the floor beneath your feet into thin air, and the air around you into solid matter!" Guffaws galore. "Gloves will not save you, I promise. Come on, I dare you." A dainty, thin-wristed arm was outstretched. His fingers curled at their tips, but mostly they were open, waiting to be taken hold of. Each one stood staring down the other, waiting for the bluff to break. Tick tock. After a solid minute, Remy tore away and marched up the stairs, leaving a sniggering Minus alone in the main hall. His laughter hit a higher pitch when abrupt thunder rolled in the blue skies above the mansion.

- -- ----- -- -

The storm had been quite brief. Most of the world took no notice, and those meteorologists that did were left to simply scratch their heads. The Xavier girls that had been MIA during the day made their homeward journey about the time the rest of the students were getting out of school. Regardless, the institute staff took notice, again. This time, however, there was no gentle summons awaiting at their convenience. As she and Tabitha trudged through the main doors like addicts only regretting getting caught, they beheld the congressional duo of professor Charles Xavier and his guard dog, the Wolverine. Like a girl possessed, Rogue was in no mood to listen to whatever lectures the two men had worked up for her. Tabitha faltered in the foyer before the two while the careless goth attempted to simply walk on by. A baring arm of Logan's insisted she stay put.

"Both of you know better than this," the professor began sternly. "It seems your judgment has been compromised, however. Therefore, I'm placing you both on estate restriction. Tabitha, I expect you-" He was cut off thanks to a blur of a magenta-enlaced book that zoomed across the chamber. It landed in a heap across the room. After an elapse of seconds, it exploded. The damage was comparable to a blown television set. The walls about the site were blackened and the carpet burned. Disturbed eyes slid to Rogue.

"Ah've had it! If it's naht mah pow'rs, it's you guys' ridiculous ideas thaht keep me apart from ev'ryone This place isa prison! Ah'm outta here!" So resolute. So sure. She could be called confident if she wasn't honestly shaking inside. Even so, the girl proceeded for the main doors, carried by heavy footsteps.

It should be noted Remy had not exactly decided to make his presence known at that critical juncture. Rather, a certain Shadowcat's abilities involuntarily carried him through the door he'd been eavesdropping behind since the initial explosion. As he flailed for balance, Rogue glared over her shoulder. When he was able to, he appealed, "Rogue, ya cain't leave. If fo' nutin' else, at leas' stay so's we can change back ta normal."

"Of course that's all _you _care about," she huffed. "Maybe Ah don't wanna go back, huh?" With that, she swung around to fling open the doors and leave Remy to his fate.

Right, like he was going to stand for that.

The quick thud of his boots on the carpet alerted Rogue to a bit of a flaw in her plan. Thus, she ran into the doors with hands prepped to cushion the impact. Once stable, the huge doors ignited in a vicious firelight.

"Nice try," Remy admitted gruffly. His sudden, added weight against the doors busted them open and the pair toppled through onto the front steps. Both were quite keen to clear the area within the allotted seconds before combustion, which they did-- except Rogue kept going. Groaning, the Cajun shoved himself to his feet and bolted after the retreating girl. "Ya' wanna do dis de hard way, okay, but don' say Remy din' warn you!"

They tore past the center-point fountain within seconds of each other. The young man's longer stride bested the girl's moments later. By this time, Remy had learned his lesson and covered up well enough that snatching the girl off her feet did not bring skin-to-skin contact. However, it was in vain.

"Put me down or Ah swear Ah'll charge thaht coat of yers!"

"Dis for yo'r own good, sha."

She had not a second left to remark 'what?' much less make good on her word. The world slipped away from her. The day darkened. She blacked out.

Originally, Remy had held the crumpling girl, but startling confusion and pain limped his grip. Rogue flopped down in the grass, unconscious. If only fortune had been so nice to the Cajun! It was all he could do to stagger away from the collapsed girl before he too fell to his hands and knees. Seconds ticked by like centuries and still the initial sting he'd felt twice before didn't subside. No, it got worse. Flinching didn't help anymore. His mind went into overdrive trying to abate the sensation. It could have been likened to involuntarily tightening one's grip on an electric rod when lit up at full force.

The garden blossomed all around the Cajun as he struggled to determine up from down. Flowers? Blades of grass, rather, alight with that violent magenta hue. Like minute fireworks they went off, exploding in sequence like purposefully arranged dominos. Further and further out the spiral went, leaving inky dirt and dead greens in its wake. For a time, fires were deterred by sudden, torrential rainfall, but a strike of lightning fixed that right up. Of course, the Shadowcat's ability saved him from any burns or electrical hazard. Unspoken for yet by convenient miracles, however, was the motionless Rogue.

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The two lines: "don' ya eva git tired of listenin' to yerself?" "Not when Remy's talkin' 'bout _you_, sha." are dialogue from the 1990's X-Men: The Animated Series television show. It worked with the scene, so I threw it in as a tribute. There are still sites that provide the sound files, if you look!


	3. Notion

Mock Me

06.03.07 - 06.10.07

an X-Men:Evo FanFic

**FOREWORD** --- See chapter one for disclaimer, setting, and author's notes.

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CHAPTER THREE - Notion

From the vista of the burnt foyer, Logan and Xavier watched the two southerners tango. As Rogue fell limp, the Wolverine snapped into reaction mode. A forceful flick of his wrists and tense of his arms enunciated the showy unsheathing of spring-loaded, metal claws from between his knuckles. His carnal snarl was so much like a battle cry. Without a conclusive look to the professor, Logan charged through the main entry and out onto the lawn.

Afternoon skies of harsh white rapidly dimmed to a gloomy haze. The rain drenching the gardens provided a slick surface for the coming tangle, but the Wolverine didn't hesitate. Strobe-style lightning arranged the following events, starting with a flying tackle of the Cajun. Claws offered a form of friction on the wet field. After tumbling and rolling, the two males eventually came to a stop, and Logan was the first to spring up to his feet and regroup. His wild, blue eyes sought Rogue, and he found her amidst a vibrant spray of scarlet radiance across the grass.

"Watch it, Cyclops!" Logan's roaring was squelched by a wayward lightning bolt. A barrel-roll dodge veered him out of the way at the last second. In the place where he'd been standing, an intense flame bellowed up like hellfire. His aggressive eyes beheld the sight as offensive. A swift survey of the lawn, however, confused his plans. Remy had a worse time controlling Rogue's power than Rogue did! There he stood a few meters off, farther from the mansion, closer to the wooded area on the estate, bent and holding his head. The Cajun's ungloved hand covered his eyes against the chaotic scene as if the idiom '_out of sight, out of mind_'could be literally applicable.

"Nightcrawler, Rogue!" Scott's voice was commanding and thorough as he positioned a directive finger toward the unconscious girl on the lawn. A foamy _bamf! _pronounced Kurt's teleportation from the mansion steps to Rogue, and then back again after he'd grabbed hold of her. The cobalt-blue-furred young man handed the Rogue's body off to helpful new recruits. His insistence they take her inside and close the metal reinforcement doors was lost against the sound of the storm, but somehow the kids understood.

Another sulfurous teleportation carried Kurt back out onto the field. He dropped down on the balls of his elongated feet alongside the team leader. "Vat's the plan?" Anxiety surfaced in the blue boy's voice.

The top ranking X-Man double checked his surroundings before answering with a swooping gesture of one arm. More lightning reflected in his clouded-red visor. "Jean!" He was signaling for the psychic's attention as she flew down from the second story balcony. It was a good thing the mansion was so far back from the main roads. While the city will no doubt be suspicious of the odd goings-on (like red laser-lights and magenta explosions), seeing the residents in their civilian clothes would have been much worse.

"We can't hurt him!" The redhead reestablished a long-lived dogma as her lithe feet touched down beside Scott.

"Ve need the professor!" They all had to strain their voices against the crashing thunder.

Scott shook his head. "We'll talk him down or knock him out. Jean, def-" The rest of his words were lost as lightning struck down directly on the trio. Luckily for them, Jean didn't need to be told to run defense. A flashy move of tensed hands erected an invisible barrier that refracted the volatile plasma. It channeled off, toward Wolverine, but touched down to the ground and discharged before hitting the lightning-rod of a man. Taking the hint, he retracted his claws and shot Scott a distrusting look as though he thought the redirected attack was on purpose. They each had their demons, of course, but there wasn't time for that now. "Nightcrawler, let's go!"

_Bamf! _The blue boy and the righteous jock teleported across the lawn. Kurt dropped Scott twenty feet from the Cajun, opposite Logan; and then the blue boy teleported himself closer. "Vat's going on?!" he yelped at an anguish-ridden Remy. Of course, there was no reply as it took all of the older male's concentration to keep his clothing from firing up. Talking was out of the question, and in an effort to relieve the distraction Remy closed his hands over his ears. "Gambit!" Kurt shouted again. The Cajun's posture doubly bent, and a flung hand gesture somehow directed lightning down between he and Nightcrawler. _Bamf!_

"He's lost it," Kurt reported as he manifested beside Logan. On cue, a beam of cutting red shot across the darkened grounds. The spectacle became lost in a sea of exploding magenta-colored blades of grass and nearby decorative trees; but as the attack collided with the out-of-control Cajun, Cyclops' scarlet laser-light splashed out and lit up their opponent's position. Remy staggered back at the hit.

At that moment of weakness, Logan executed a charge and, again, tackled the lankier, taller, trench coat-wrapped man to the ground. Luck and precaution on both sides prevented skin-to-skin contact as Logan fisted the Cajun's forearms and smashed them down into the ground. A bent up knee on the latter's stomach did a lot more to keep him in place, despite all the writhing.

"You better quit your wriggling, Cajun, unless you want a new piercing," Wolverine growled as the other X-Men swarmed in. Nightcrawler dropped in to try to secure Remy's kicking legs, but the lighter boy was easily forced away with destructive, steel-toed blows. Meanwhile, Cyclops shot into the raining lightning and successfully deflected a few strikes as Jean levitated Professor X through the tumult.

- -- ----- -- -

Xavier was able to talk the Cajun down and restore some kind of stability to Remy's mind. After sorting things through with the team, the professor escorted the rather confused young man to his office. Mental training lasted through the rest of the day for Remy while Kurt spent the evening in the infirmary for possibly bruised or broken ribs.

Morning held some good news as displayed by the breakfast scene on the ground floor. Rogue, Kitty, Kurt, and even Minus huddled in the cafeteria at the end of a long, cloth-less table. The conversation was light-hearted and happy, as if they were just a few perfectly ordinary kids. Bygones all around. It was these sorts of moments everyone lived for.

Apparently, everyone but Remy. Slouched over a half-eaten piece of toast smeared with some kind of dressing, the Cajun observed from the kitchen how very chummy the four of them seemed. Just like that, Minus was part of the pack? The very thought destroyed his appetite.

Tabitha's half-awake attention startled at the sudden sound of metal stool legs dragged across the floor tile. She had mind to yell at the Cajun for ruining her daydream, but the expression he wore deterred her. He escaped the kitchen without so much as a wave of a hand, just the heavy thud of wayward footsteps. Simply judging from his determined, deliberate stride, younger residents elected to steer clear out of his way as Remy made for Xavier's office.

"Remy can smell a liar from a mile away, an' dat kid reeks." The young man vehemently convicted foul play as soon as he had the founder's undivided attention

Perhaps it was because the Cajun had yet to gain Charles' trust, or due to the fact he insisted on keeping a great deal of himself a mystery. Whatever the reason, it was obvious the professor wasn't going to invest any effort into the rowdy young man's accusations. "I understand your concern, and mister Fraser _is_ under observation by our staff. You should be happy to know he's prevented anymore slipups with his ability. And since it only happened the one time under such a farfetched circumstance, I am inclined to believe it was just that: a slipup. A mistake."

"You incline' cuz you cain't see insigh his head, no? _Dis here_- dis a mistake. Play car'z down sout' long enough an' you be able to'dell de liars from de truth."

"There are methods I have used to indicate truth from falsification that have no need for telepathy, mister LeBeau, and Minus has proved himself honest."

"Das cuz you lookin' a' him like he'sa norm'l kid! You don' put in de fact he's from anodda country. T'inks en French, no? You spea' French, prof?" An index finger was pointed accusingly. "Maybe das why you cain't read him t'oughts, eh?"

Xavier shot him down simply. "Language is not an issue; not for telepaths. There are many residents here at the institute- and they hail from all ends of the world, you know."

Grumbling, he countered, "mais, de boy izza act'r. He choose his werds careful- he translate dem in hiz head befo' speakin' em. Jus' like readin' froma scrip'. Der no time fo' de suspicious sideway' glances you' lookin' for, prof."

"I see," the professor conceded just to get the Cajun to calm down. The latter ran a gloved hand through his frazzled hair and sighed, at least. "I will keep a closer eye on him."

The placebo effect wasn't at all helpful Remy decided after quitting the office. He was left to turn things over in his disheveled mind on his way back to the kitchen. Enough time had elapsed that the cafeteria should have cleared, even if it was the weekend. Despite that being the case, after downing a sizable breakfast (as though it could be his last), the Cajun traversed the halls _looking_ for the gray kid. The search ended, of all the places, in the front foyer.

"Runnin' out are ya, Tee?" Remy shouted semi-nonchalant over the distance. His stride was purposeful as he left the main hall and crossed toward the front doors where Minus stood.

"I thought I would try to enroll in the high school," the lad replied, chipper.

"Dat so? You needa guard'an den, to sign de papers, if you unda eigh-te'n."

"You want to come with me, nosey?"

His volume decreased as he came to stand, straight and looming, not three feet from the shorter young man. "A word ov advize, Tee. Only gerls talk like dat."

Baring a sharp, smug smile, Minus mocked, "a word _of advice_, monsieur LeBeau. I do not care about your opinions, nor any other _thoughts _worming through that hollow head of yours."

The Catalyst may have stumbled upon some arrogance in the face of the Cajun's earlier trials, but the latter was quite the king of esteem. When he gave that devilish, lopsided smirk, it easily defeated Minus' meager mimic. "You bedda star'," Remy countered. "Cuz dey yours." So very baffled, the gray youth didn't even budge as Remy raised a naked hand, palm up, and hard-flicked his middle finger into the boy's forehead.

Thud.

The Cajun stood on tip-toe, practically, and wore a tense, stressed face. Narrow eyes focused on a nearby point on the front doors. Stone still. Nothing happened. That was-- disturbing? It was as if Minus had had no powers at all. No, that was wrong. The memories Remy felt flash behind his eyes squared the boy's mutation with what everyone already knew. That wasn't to say there weren't surprises, however.

For the third time, Xavier found the seedy young man bursting into his office unannounced. "Now, Remy got proof!"

An uneasy expression flickered over the telepath's expression. "What did you do?" The question itself, in its slow, wary pace, suggested that the professor only sought to confirm a dreary suspicion.

Remy had been so excited to showcase the boy's secrets he'd left the youth sprawled in the foyer. As soon as that was made obvious, Xavier switched to a proper wavelength and demanded someone get Minus to the infirmary immediately. While that was underway, the Cajun persisted that the switch-up 'mistake' had been planned, and it had been the reason behind the Catalyst's coming to the institute in the first place. The Jersey boy had been upfront all along: he hated his powers. What he failed to mention, however, was that he wanted new ones; and Rogue was the gateway to that goal.

Xavier sat with his head slightly bowed and fingertips sorted into a precise arch on the table. "It seems the Catalyst's ability to null telepathy prevents me from reading your mind, mister LeBeau."

Remy faltered, wide-eyed. "You aren' gonna take Remy's word fo' it? Dis iz not an act! Remy's no liar!"

Ever contemplative, the professor navigated the conversation carefully. "If what you say about the boy's memories is true, then I leave it to you to assure another shuffling of abilities does not take place. In other words, you must be no where near mister Fraser. I will speak with Rogue." To be frank, he was killing two birds with one stone.

"_Remy'll _speak ta Rogue," he insisted sharply, placing a half open hand to his chest. "_An'_ make sure de Tee don' come near 'er." Storming out really had no purpose, considering who he was dealing with.

_Thank you,_ chimed shallowly through the Cajun's head as he worked through the institute halls. And who should he run into in the atrium, but the lady of the hour. She was keen to duck into an open, empty classroom, but Remy caught up to her before that. It was obvious she'd been seen, anyway.

"Jus' lea'me alone," Rogue mumbled, shoving by him.

"Rogue, liss'en." Duh, he was going to follow her. He ended up doubling back over almost the same path he'd just taken, only at a quicker rate. After the second left turn with no hope of losing him, Rogue spun to confront the young man.

"How couldja do that ta Minus?" The demand nearly knocked the Cajun off his feet. "Especially afta whatcha said ta me yesterday!" He faltered. She added on. "Abou' fixin' us, swamp rat!"

The correct route, here, would have been to go with the flow and follow the conversation as the southern belle had laid it down. Instead, that fury in her eyes sparked the Cajun's latent miseries back to life. "Moi? How cou'jou even sit wit' him dis mornin'?! Ya' carry on like you twos bes' buds, even t'ough it's him makin' ow' livez hell!"

Her vacant staring up at Remy only broke for a second's worth of breathless laughter. "Ya jealous!"

"Ja-laz? Ov what!" Ridiculous.

"Tha fact that Ah can stand his company, maybe," Rogue growled. "He's naht so bad. Immature sometahmes, but then again so are _you_."

The narrow hall they'd come to linger in promptly adopted a purpose. The wall the young man stood not more than four feet away from became a net on which to fall. The Cajun dramatically slapped a hand over his heart. "Remy's nuttin' like dat.. rat!" He should have clapped that hand over his mouth.

She took the shot. "Ya' both rats."

"Den stick wit' de genu'aine ardacle!"

A gurgled sigh and a roll of her eyes later and Rogue was on her way again. "Nahce try."

"Sha, waitta sec-" was all he got about before he unceremoniously fell through the wall he'd leaned against.

- -- ----- -- -

The girl didn't even turn to look back. Without missing a beat, she took up the journey that'd been delayed, and in under five minutes she'd reached the infirmary wing of the mansion. Doctor McCoy permitted her entry to see the awoken Minus. Luckily for the gray kid, the contact sustained with Remy had not been drawn out and he had not been incapacitated as long as Kitty and Ororo. As if glucose levels had anything to do with 'life-force,' a tray of cookies and orange juice stood on a sliding desk beside the bed, blood-donor style. Near there, the only smudge of outside life in the immaculately sterile environment, Rogue aligned her boots and stood quietly.

"Rogue, I am sorry," Minus stated after a lengthy, awkward pause.

"Whigh?"

The young man's eyes flickered up from where they'd been pinned on the bedspread. "Did you not speak with Remy?"

Inwardly, Rogue admitted the Jersey boy was acting suspicious. "He's off buyin' ya a git-well card." Drab sarcasm. It made him laugh lightly.

"One that glows a rosy color," he teased the idea. Then he switched to a more sullen note. "I am ashamed. I mocked him. I called this on myself."

"Even so," the girl said, compromising, "he should know naht ta use mah pow'r in petty li'l jealousy baddles."

Minus lit up with morbid excitement. "Oh, no, Rogue. We were not fighting. He is convinced I am trying to do him in-- ever since the accident."

"Ya' sayin' he's paranoid? That don' sound laike Remy.."

"I assumed he was becoming defensive. As you were. Before." He paused for enunciation of the point. "I believe you now. Your gift.. it can be a terrible curse." And again. "I am so sorry." By that point, apologies were doing more harm than good. A dark, depressing cloud loomed over the goth's head credit Minus' glass-half-empty point of view. "If it should make you feel any better, I doubt very much any harm will come to him as far as my catalyst's ability goes. And I feel fine. _And _things will go back to normal soon."

Rogue would have questioned the young man's certainty if the assurance hadn't begun by regarding the Cajun. She shrugged it off. "Ah should go." And she started to, but was stopped.

"Wait. I.. I want to repay you. For everything. I could take you into the city." Left-fielder much. Rogue faltered and glanced over her shoulder at the proposal. A quirked brow didn't even begin to illustrate her bewilderment.

When she got her thoughts together a few seconds later, the girl gave a polite, mellow smile and shook her head. "Nah, Ah'm housebound."

"After?"

She twitched. "Yer startin' ta remin' me of tha swamp rat."

- -- ----- -- -

Knotty, tanned fingers tugged at the loose brims of black, leather gloves. Slender, metal cuff bands were tested for strength. Carefully then, thick-material, khaki sleeves were rolled down to their full length. Covered hands plucked at the starched collar of his murky dark-blue, quarter-sleeve shirt. Wide-stretched index finger and thumb pushed a dapper pair of heavily tinted sunglasses into place. On his way out of the dorm room, the Cajun's hand swiped across the top of the chestnut dresser and noisily gathered a set of keys.

Somewhere between picking himself up off the floor (after accidentally phasing through that wall earlier) and passing by the rec room where the Xavier kids were playing cards, Remy had decided to step out. Not a soul was told. Having tied up the tail of his jacket, the twenty-year-old straddled his bike. The engine purred under his versed ministrations, and off he went, not even waiting for the gate- he slid right through it, full speed ahead.

Lunchtime found the institute residents gathered in the cafeteria again, gossiping and chatting about this and that. Their idle smiles and shallow rants were only interrupted by a very out of character appearance of the tall, dark, and silent type. The brawny Russian Piotr arrived at the end of the table and stood statuesque and noble. Yet another voice spangled with exotic accent came upon the crowd and inquired of his roommate's, that is- Remy LeBeau's- location. Wary, unknowing heads were shaken, and the man walked off.

"Maybe he took off."

"Maybe he got the boot."

"Maybe he's out shopping for an _umbrella_." The vast majority of the audience seemed rather impassive to this new development. Except one, of course, that would spark a debate.

"Ugh, tha' idiot's gonna git himself killed. Runnin' around with mah pow'rs.. given his track record so fahr." With a groan, Rogue slumped down on the table and draped her hands over the back of her head.

"You worry too much," Tabitha resolved light-heartedly. "After all that's gone down, I think he's learned his lesson about covering up!" A doubtful Rogue muttered something under her breath. Nearby, Minus giggled.

"Even so, the dummy went and zapped _me_. Mine, you do not need skin on skin contact."

"Don't laugh," someone snipped quietly.

"You said nothin'd happen ta him as far as yer pow'r went."

"Oh, nothing will. But..." The following story was prefaced by more, impertinent laughter. "When I was first coming into my mutation, it was a risk to touch anything. One morning, coming downstairs, I stepped on our cat's tail. The horrible thing attacked me, so I had to throw him off." Unhappily and with a sigh, he finished, "those were my best shoes. Had to throw them out. Could not explain the.. what is the word.. viscera? to mother."

"Wha' tha hell is-"

"Is that like insides?!" Petrified looks all around. "You killed your cat?!"

"What, stepped on it?"

"He turned it into shoes!"

Minus assured with puppy-dog eyes, "it was an accident."

After many a disgusted shiver and revolted reprimand, Tabitha broke into the argument. "Whoa-whoa-whoa. What's the diff' between a cat and a person?"

For the first time in all his days at the institute, the gray kid was without a quick, eloquent comeback. He stared blankly at the implication, mouth slightly ajar as though he wished to speak but could not will his own tongue to move. At length, and under the pressure of all eyes from around the table, Minus rejoined, "a lot!"

"Organic is organic, man," someone rebuked.

"Yeah, plenty of people here can only alter man-made junk- no harm done. But if you've been killing cats, you could definitely hurt a person!"

His posture illustrated just how small he suddenly felt. "It was only one cat..."

They went on regardless. "Yeah-yeah, don't you know?"

"How could you not know?"

"You shouldn't touch anyone!"

"Not even if you got gloves on!"

Flashbacks caused Rogue to flinch. "Guys, cool it!" And when they did, and all eyes were on her, the goth reiterated delicately, "Minus is righ'. It's too danger'us."

And that was that. After speaking with Professor X, the X-Men were covertly deployed into Bayville and surrounding areas. Footwork was done by teams. The first consisted of Tabitha Smith, who had managed to weasel her way into the mission, and Jean Grey. The second, Logan and Rogue. Various other team members made up an eagle's eye search party. During the stagnancy in between reports, Xavier attempted to locate the MIA Gambit via Cerebro.

It was team Alpha, as they called themselves over the tiny radio microphones, that eventually ran into the Cajun in a strip mall gaming arcade south of Bayville. The bike parked out front was a dead giveaway- one he wouldn't have mistakenly dropped if he were trying to stay hidden.

The atmosphere within was five thousand different flavors of leisure, hype, and whirlwind. Over the rubber mat in the front and beneath the heavily gusty fans hanging above the door, Tabitha was apt to feast her eyes on a sea of colorful, flashing lights timed with symphonic sound effects. Rattled coins and game over buzzes accented the erratic soundscape already stuffy with shouts of victory and cries of defeat. If it hadn't been for the fifty or so machines with huge monitors beaming light between the crowded isles, the place would have been completely dark.

"Whoa, check-it!" The tawdry blonde called over her shoulder, flailing a finger at a game on the far left wall. A slightly less tan hand clasped around Tabitha's wrist before she could make off on her spontaneous break.

"Don't forget why we're here," Jean reminded sternly. The younger girl turned up her nose in the face of work-yet-done.

They took to searching each row. The unreliable lighting didn't help the fact that people young and old were constantly moving throughout the building. Inevitably, the duo wound up at the loudest machine in the place. So, perhaps the Cajun's infamous lucky streak wasn't due to slight of hand?

"What'sa matter Rem-ster, they didn't have virtual poker?" The machine rocked in place as Tabitha fell into a lean against its wide side. With one hand raised to lever herself, the blonde twisted to look into the busy, plastic-shielded screen. Old school graphics played behind the glass.

Remy quirked a brow, but whether or not it was at the jeering or at Jean (who followed close behind) was left to question. "Wha's dis?" He drug out each syllable in a quizzical, beguiling voice. "Remy hahd no idea de gerls would miss him so much."

"Somebody's gotta look out for ya'," Tabitha quipped with a cheery smirk.

"Xavier sent us," Jean the killjoy informed.

The machine boomed its game over ring. Apparently a timer had run out. A slightly disappointed, thoughtful look was passed on the screen from the Cajun, and then he motioned the girls to follow him. The rambunctious crowds were swiftly left behind. They convened alongside Remy's bike in the parking lot, and the three carried on while he prepped his vehicle.

"Remy's star'din to see t'ings from Rogue's point'a view. Xavier sent y'all out, huh. Come to fetch an' detain?"

"_Detain_? Are you leaving the institute?" Quite blunt, Jean was.

"Nah, man." Tabitha took up a defensive standpoint. "We got a message for ya." Remy and Jean both shot her curious looks. She reveled in the attention and went on rather cavalier. "From Rogue. But if you're busy we can just-"

"What she say?"

Leaning over the handlebars, the blonde relayed a dramatic demand. "She said, 'get your ass back to the mansion, pronto!'"

Poignant skepticism painted his suave features. "Dat don' sound like Rogue."

Jean butted Tabitha aside. "She's concerned for your safety." _She_ could have meant Rogue or Tabitha in this case. The redhead left the statement vague. "Apparently, Minus confessed a danger about his abilities no one had known about."

"Yeah, man. We were all chillin' at lunch and all the sudden, little man busts out with a story about turning some pet pussycat into leather and laces. And if he can do that-"

"Trus' me, Remy know." The young man exhaled hard and drew two fingers to one temple. Tap, tap. "Trie' to tell Xavier, he don' listen. Rogue don' listen nei'der." Jean bowed her head slightly in an attempt to exert some search into the Cajun's mind, but she too was foiled.

"Major weak," complained the blonde, at a loss. "Maybe if you talked to him, Jean."

The redheaded psychic offered a quick nod. "First, explain what you saw in Minus' memories. From the beginning."

Ten minutes later, as Remy drew to a close of his summary of the past few days, Tabitha realized they'd yet to radio team Bravo and the institute with the news. "Uh, so, you're coming back to the mansion, right?"

"So long as dis mys'try get unraveled."

"Do you think he's working for Magneto? Or Mystique? Maybe they gave up on getting Rogue to defect, so they came up with this?"

"Minus didn't seem to know who Buckethead or Blue were before." Tabitha glanced at Remy, and he shrugged.

"Someone else?"

"To be hones', it don't feel like de Tee's workin' fo' anybody but himse'f."

"So, why won't the professor listen to you?"

The back-alley Jack-of-all-trades submitted an innocent shrug. Tabitha studied his well-meaning expression (or at least, all that wasn't blocked behind his shades) before pressing a thumb on her radio mic. "Alpha to Omega, we found him."

"Well done. Summers is on the way," called back into everyone's earpiece.

Ten miles off, Logan twisted his own bike into gear and he and Rogue sped south. Thirty or so minutes elapsed before they pulled along side Remy who was trailing Jean and Tabitha in Scott's muscle car. Somehow, it was both delighting and stomach wrenching for the Cajun to see Rogue really had been out searching for him. Or, rather, that she was so close by; and at the next stoplight he'd catch an earful from her, no doubt. At the first red light, Remy conveniently slowed his approach so that he was not along side Logan but for the last second or two of the traffic stop. When the light turned green, the Cajun gave a smart, two fingered salute before sharply turning and peeling off into a nearby gas station. Without a second thought, Rogue dismounted her ride and sprinted thirty feet or so after him.

"_Sha_, if ya' wan'id to come wit', you shoulda jus' said so." As if the entire thing was planned, search party and all.

Over the last ten feet, the southern belle hollered, "hit tha kickstand!" Or else? Fearlessly, Remy jerked the keys, shut off the motor, and stabilized the bike. Not only that, but he swung off of it and stood, hands held out, as though she'd run into his arms. It stopped her contemptuous march, at least. "Ya knew his pow'rs were danger'us an' ya didn't say anythin'?!" Rogue held fists at her sides. Those welcoming hands of his turned palm-up in a gesture of faultlessness. A fervent grunt escaped the girl. "And thehn ya run off laike nobahdy'll notice?! Ya coulda hurt someone!"

His coat-covered arms fell. "Din' mean t'worry ya, Rogue. Stayin' coop' up in dat house, t'ough- iz too much. Wouldn' you say so?" Metal boots on the pavement clinked one-two-three-four as he walked the length of his bike. One gloved hand was raised to meddle with the spaghetti-string sleeve of the girl's blouse, but she shied away.

"Aren' you payin' attention?" She growled. "Even with gloves on, ya could do seri'us damage."

One lopsided frown later and Remy had deposited both hands in his coat's pockets. Then, the young man's figure took on a startling stillness, with his neck angled and his shielded sights centered on the girl before him. The rush of cars and wind around them became the new loud. At length, he broke the silent spell with a reserved, refined voice. "Yo'r righ'. Dunno wha' I waz t'inkin'." Why did _that _bring a pang of pain to her chest? Something about him dropping his third-person gimmick... or was he finally giving up? The former was short-lived; the latter, not so much. "Remy din' know how hahrd it waz fo' you, sha."

She crossed her pale arms over her chest. "Don't sweat it, swamp rat. Resistin' ya's a piece'a cahke. 'Sides, ya' goin' back ta normal pretteh soon, enyway. Ya' can go back ta gallivantin' aroun' with ya cahrds an' yer gerls an' ya charm all ya' laike."

"Mon ange! Even a'ter evert'ing? Know'n' yo'r freedom wit'out yo'r pow'z- you take dem back?"

An aimed exhale brushed a strand of hair out of her downcast face. "If Minus'll even do it."

"Ah, he do it," Remy assured, closing one hand over another balled one. "One way o' de ot'ur."

Rogue had not yet rolled her eyes when another bike sped into the lot. Logan had apparently decided they'd had enough time to talk; or he'd simply taken that long in turning around. He certainly wasn't going to let the girl ride back with the hazardous Cajun. Temporary goodbyes were simple, unfinished hand waves. They parted for only a little while.

Rogue took a sympathetic seat near the quieted Cajun during dinner. It should be noted anywhere within ten seats was 'near' due to the fact these places were quite vacant, both around Remy and Minus. The latter of the two sat at the kitchen counter throughout the meal, forcing others to pass by him as though it would somehow lift his exile from the clique. In the cafeteria, three chairs away and on the opposite side of the table, Rogue was hardly content to play with the food on her plate. Still, conversation didn't come easy; and at length it was actually Remy who stood and left. In truth, he'd nearly been asleep on the table for ten minutes leading up to then, staring zombie-like into the kitchen's threshold.

So, the chase was on. Back and forth Rogue glanced, from plate to wayward Remy. She really didn't want to know what he was up to.

"Miss me, Tee?" The Cajun queried, vindictively trailing the gray young man on his way to the stairs.

"Can not you accept there is nothing you can do to me?"

"Dere's plenty Remy can do," he corrected with a sweeping of an interior coat pocket. Lid flipped and pack turned upside-down, a deck of cards came free in an uncovered hand. Practiced fingers separated one card from the top, as well as held the rest in place. A greater show of dexterity and control was noticeable in his ability to light up only that one card. "Ready t'come clean?"

Shrieks of "help, help!" from the atrium turned Rogue's stomach and killed her appetite in the same instant. She, along with several other students trained in fast-acting, rushed onto the scene. What awaited them? The quite anti-climactic sight of Minus cowering in the corner of the room at the foot of the stairs, and the Cajun standing ten feet away with his hands in his pockets. As soon as the would-be-rescuers realized it was _these two _causing the fuss, they all halted in their tracks. None were willing to risk getting too close, lest they end up like a certain pet cat. Even if Rogue did have the courage, she didn't care to get in the middle of them. No one noticed that she'd suddenly disappeared.

"What's going on?" Ororo's dark, authoritative voice shattered the petrified students. Her strange blue eyes slid between the two young men. Without word, Remy tipped a boot forward on the stiff carpet and moved off. Windows clattered in their frames as the wind kicked up outside. While the weather witch silenced the tempest with a wave of one hand, Minus covered his mouth to mask a complacent chuckle. The audience of residents then flooded into the atrium, after at least one of the volatile persons had gone, to marvel at miss Monroe's recovery and sport thanks to have her back. Since everyone was so preoccupied, Minus elected to slip away without providing any explanation.

- -- ----- -- -

Late night found Rogue alone in the pooling light of overhead kitchen lamps. A bent wrist enunciated the connection of her drooping hand to the glass neck of a soda pop bottle. The swill of fizz in her throat numbed a latent tremble, but the caffeine did nothing to calm her mind.

"Still up?" Logan's voice wasn't the least bit tainted with fatigue as he entered the kitchen. He polled the refrigerator and cabinets quickly before deciding there was nothing worth bothering with.

"Ah think Ah'm an insomniac or somethin'."

"After today? Nah, kid." If the fridge wasn't good for keeping drink around, at least it made a good post to lean against. Logan begrudgingly took advantage of this. "What's eatin' ya?"

"Everythin'," she groaned sourly. "Ah feel laike we just fell inta tha twilight zone. Minus seems laike'a nahce guy, but whigh would Remy lai?" Shuffling and shifting, the girl moved a half-asleep, beseeching stare on Logan. "Whaddaya think's gonna happen ta'us?"

Thoughtful, the man replied, "truthfully, I dunno, Rogue." A furrowed brow and shake of his head enunciated his struggle for facts. He was practically invincible in battle, but when it came to things like this, the infamous Wolverine was just as fallible as the next guy. "If it's safe, and when this goes down, we're all gonna be there watchin' your back. You can count on that." His assurance brought a small smile to the girl's face, but it was fast to die away. The sleepy look of hers that drifted down to the tabletop prompted the man to say, "go on up to bed."

After little argument and more short-term goodbyes, Rogue was dragging her feet up the stairs and down the hall. Smudged makeup was hastily removed before wrestling into pajamas. It was only a short time after collapsing into her bed sheets and pillows. however, that sleep was again robbed from her. The feeling of a cool hand on her shoulder still brought tingles to every nerve, but the startling she did was out of sheer surprise. Another, matching hand feel over her mouth to silence any screaming she might wake her roommate with. So, it was with wide eyes she stared into the darkness of the dorm room to behold a figure, draped in darkness, bringing one finger to their lips.


	4. Pointblank

Mock Me

06.10.07 - 06.10.07

an X-Men:Evo FanFic

**FOREWORD** --- See chapter one for disclaimer, setting, and author's notes.

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CHAPTER FOUR - Pointblank

Fiercely, Rogue grabbed the wrist of the hand at her own lips and tore it away. With adrenaline surging, sitting up was effortless, as was throwing the covers down to the foot of the bed. "Remy! Whadder ya' doin' in here?! Get out!"

Deflated, the interloper replied, "does he come into your room at night?"

"Minus? What tha h-" It occurred to her now that if it had truly been Remy, she would have blacked out at the touch.

His hands waved to stress innocence. Sweeping steps took him away from her bed, and he proceeded for the closed balcony doors. A gesture of a few fingers beckoned a following, which Rogue hesitantly complied with. If Kitty woke up now, who knew what kind of rumors would get around the institute in the morning.

Judging by the angle of the moon and the diminished traffic on the far off roads, it had to be around two AM or so. Dark winds unfurled the long curtains and ruffled each resident's pajamas as Minus closed the tall, glass doors. Like a learned host, the young man turned on his heel with his hands held behind his back. Rogue, meanwhile, stood with her hands on her hips most disgruntled-like. Not that that was new for her.

"I- I just wanted to apologize.." His voice trailed off fittingly, seeing as Rogue had heard about enough of it.

"An' how many taimes have ya' apologized since ya' been here? 'Bout a hundred! Whigh don'tcha stop doin' wrong in tha first place!" Forward steps and a pointed finger accused him. Minus swerved away from the doors and moved further out onto the balcony. He spoke with his hands, mostly.

"That is what I am trying to do! Rogue, listen. I want to set things right, now."

"Well, start fessin' up," she barked.

Again, and with a sigh, he confessed. "Alright. I knew.. that it was a possibility. This is why I left home. It was an accident, as it was when it happened between you and Remy, but they did not understand-"

"Ya' switched up mutants' pow'rs befo'?!" She neared to slap him, or something similar, and Minus backed himself into the corner of the balcony.

Pinned between stone rails and the brick wall, he pled. "Now you know why I had to lie! No one understands!"

With a fisted hand bent back, ready to swing forward, Rogue hesitated only to shout. "Remy's seen ya' mem'ries. Ya' did it on purpose!"

"I did not! Please believe me!" He flinched with arms held up to shield himself. "I can not lie; not to you!" As those words sunk in, Rogue huffed a sharp growl and spun away. At the other end of the balcony and with arms crossed over her chest, she glared at him. With a hand over his heart, Minus wobbled and nearly sunk to the floor. Instead, he balanced himself against the rail and held his tongue.

"Ya' can come up with bettar than that. Ya' already lied ta me, and ta tha whole school."

"I.. I am sor-"

"Wouldja stop already! All Ah want from ya' is ta fix what ya' screwed up; can ya' do that?!"

A hand rose to graze the nape of his neck. Downcast eyes refused to meet hers. "Yes. I returned the previous two to their normal states after their essences had settled. This is why I have not been so worried, you see? Everything is alright."

"No, it's naht. A lotta people got hert 'cause'a you. Kitty, Storm, Kurt... Remy and me especially. If ya' had jus' been honest with us- and with yerself- this all could'a been prevented."

"That is true," he remarked solemnly. "But I am glad to know you were able to enjoy your 'normal' time, at least. I.. After hearing what you said about your ability, I figured if it did happen.. there would be some good to come from it. Do you think so, too?"

A gruff sigh escaped her. "Look, Ah appreciate yer.. tha thought." Cue awkward silence that Minus chose to break with the most-awaited news of these past days.

"I am sure that, by tomorrow, I will be able to return you two to your original states. But..." Finally his shy, gray eyes fled the stone floor to gaze at the humbled goth across the way. "Before then, one last hurrah?"

"Wha'?"

"We go into the city," he replied with a bashful grin. "You, as a normal girl; and I, as a normal boy. I shall show you I am not all bad, then we come back and you and the rat are to be fixed. And.. I explain myself to everyone... or I will leave this house, if you wish it then." Sheepishly, he added, "you are the only friend I have left here, it seems."

Internal musing and contemplation was secret behind Rogue's world-weary countenance. She dangled her company on a string, practically, for several tense minutes. At length, and with reserved sympathy, the girl replied, "fahn."

- -- ----- -- -

Déjà vu, as the French say.

The breakfast scene in all its usually chaos harbored our players affectionately. Remy in the kitchen, staring vacantly into the cafeteria. A wild ocean of bustling residents flowed through the wide aisles and across the floor, blurring together in some kind of erratic yet peaceful melting pot. Amidst it, Minus led Rogue along to the far double doors, and out they went. The Cajun, who saw, nearly choked on his own saliva. Nearly fell out of his chair. Nearly trampled the dozen or so kids in his way as he made for the stairs. After strapping on the necessary covering of gloves, long sleeves, and coat, Remy burst out of the mansion's front doors. He prepped and mounted his bike in record time, and sped off.

Needle in a haystack? Not exactly. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out just where two sixteen-year-olds would head this early in the morning. Remy need only fly by all the fast food restaurants within a mile of the institute before inevitably spotting the two kids. In fact, he'd gotten there so quickly he was able to watch their cab pull away from the curb. Swift jerks of his metal-wrapped foot stopped and stabilized his bike, then a walk-run brought him up to the duo. Laden stealth talents apparently manifested in his steps unconsciously, as no one seemed to have noticed the Cajun. This was doubly remarkable seeing as the parking lot was practically empty, so accidental sounds would have been more easily detected on an unmarred soundscape. So, when Remy seized the younger male's shoulder and jerked him away from Rogue, the latter two acted as if lightning had just stuck in the same place twice. Minus sprawled on the pavement like a kicked puppy. That sight hastened Rogue's recovery from the initial surprise.

"Wha'tha hell, Remy!?" Even furious and bewildered, she kept her distance and fought the urge to slap him.

"Da hell, _me_? Wha'z wit's you? Didja fo'get everyt'ing from yes'erday? He'z wicked!"

"Yer what's wicked, swamp rat!" Rogue retorted without a second thought. "Minus'as told me everythin', unlaike _you_."

"How'm I su'pose to tell you anyt'ing when you alwayz run off?" Again, the third person slips in the heat of the moment. "If you'd listen' to me befo', we'd be bedda off, ya' know." Leering, the Cajun glimpsed Minus pulling to his feet in the corner of his eye. In a heartbeat, Remy wheeled around. With his bo staff drawn, the twenty-year-old knocked his opponent down again and held him to the ground with that same steel.

"Remy!"

"Whateva lies you spun for de gerl, ya' gonna be sarry." The staff was jolted to emphasize his point. Distraught, Minus remained silent. Rogue was doing a pretty good job of defending him, anyway. Tense hands grasped the end of the Cajun's weapon to gain some control of its pressure and direction, but his strength was no match for Remy's.

"He _is _sorry, ya' idiot!" Aware verbal insistence was doing no good, the girl rushed forward and shoved the much taller man. Spawned from that, she clamped down on his shoulders in an attempt to pull him away from the defeated Jersey boy.

Even if Rogue was not able to budge Remy, a devilish hope shown in Minus' visage. While his assailant was distracted with the girl, the gray kid shifted his hold and tugged hard. Maybe it was a lack of able grip in his gloves, or a wavering determination, but in any case, Remy's weapon slipped from him. Clangs and clatters filled the air as the staff fell to the ground, and then was drug into use by the still laid-out Minus. While he angled the pole to help him stand, Rogue released Remy. Given that her companion was more-or-less free, the girl elected to storm off.

"Sha, wait!" Bad move, turning his back on Minus like that. Testament to effective Danger Room sessions, the Catalyst brought the weapon down on Remy's collar with impeccable aim and debilitating force. The Cajun crumpled half-way to the ground. Silver-lining was pronounced as a gloved hand held his weight while one leg kicked out to trip the aggravating kid. More clinks and clangs were secondary to Minus' own 'oof' as he flopped to the ground.

As soon as the ball of his foot came down on the pavement again, Remy shifted his weight back on it, then launched forward. Several steps created a decent distance as the older male regained his balance. Thereafter, a sharp about-face illustrated his commitment to getting his staff back, if not teaching the kid a lesson. However, it seemed Minus had other plans. Leaving the petty bo staff behind, the sixteen-year-old was hightailing it out of the parking lot.

With priorities in order, Remy snatched up and telescoped-closed the weapon. Apparent now was the fact Rogue had taken off for some unknown destination. Grumbling to himself, the Cajun sprinted to his bike and tore off down the street. Obviously, he didn't have to go far, as Rogue's two feet couldn't take her quickly enough away. Meandering down some ambiguous sidewalk, she was keen to ignore Remy as he slowed to chug along beside her, in the gutter.

"Rogue-"

"Ah don' wanna hear it," she huffed, not bothering to glance his way. "It doesn' madder anyway. If it's naht tha institute or somebady laike you, then it's me, myself, and Ah. Ah can't be normal. Ah don't even know how ta anymore."

Smoothly, Remy replied, "it'z like ridin' a bike, sha. Remy show you." A hand waved to summon her on, but she rejected him. Her pace picked up. So did his; and more easily since he was driving. There was no way she could outrun him, obviously. As if this suddenly dawned on the girl, she swung around with hands on hips to confront the young man.

"And what diffe'nce is that gonna make, huh? _You _cain't touch."

Head cocked to one side, the Cajun stared quizzically at the implication. "_Sha._ Remy di'n know you had it in ya'."

The girl visibly bristled. "Ah meant that's naht normal, swamp rat!"

"So, Remy shoul' take ya' back to yo'r date wit' de liddle liahr."

"It was naht a date," she continued harshly.

"Oh? He seem jus' yo'r type." He likely only said so to hear her deny it.

"Sniveling coward? Ah think naht."

"Mais," he mused, turning his attention to his hands. Between each he juggled invisible objects representing respective traits. "De fille don' like cowardice. Don' like confid'aunce. Don' like de charmer. Don' like de amateur..." As he listed these off, Rogue was not the least bit amused. Slight laughter shown in his voice, though. "At leas' admit him and me, we _no-t'ing _alike."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but not as though she were fighting his accusation. "Maybe yer not," she did admit quietly. With that, she turned and began homeward again. In an equal tone, though it diminished to a steep, lackluster end, Rogue concluded, "maybe Ah donn'o what Ah want.. but laike Ah said, it doesn't madder anymore."

Considerately, the rest of the trek back to the mansion went without banter. Remy discontinued his efforts to get Rogue to ride with him, but only as a precaution against the Catalyst's ability. As Rogue was forced to walk, so was he, dragging the motorcycle beneath him. Of course, the final stretch from the gate to the circular driveway proved the longest in a poetic sense. If only it could have gone on forever.

"Miss me?" Minus shouted over the distance. There he stood, about twenty feet from the front doors, all on his own but with a dark air of confidence enveloping his figure. He was the picture of the school yard omega ready to exact revenge on his bully. At first glance, the concept seemed ridiculous. He at least could have armed himself with a stick or something.

"Don't even-" Rogue couldn't finish.

"You know it." Remy's reply was baited with subliminal malice made evident as he dismounted his bike, shoved his sunglasses into his coat, and strode purposefully ahead of the girl. The latter growled to herself and halted in place while the Cajun whipped out his bo staff. Differences of opinion, at least between the two southerners, were hastily put aside when a vibrant, magenta flare caught their attention. Remy faltered, perplexed, as Minus presented a _charged _cat's eye marble between his middle finger and thumb. An impish grin marred the gray kid's usually placid features.

"I told you, gloves can not save you!"

The parking lot...

The three of them...

They'd all been in contact at once...

"Neither can coats, nor staffs!" Minus finished his statement with an explosive punctuation. A flick of a few fingers tossed that marble, along with several others, toward the Cajun. There wasn't much choice for the moment, Remy had to turn and run. On his way, he signaled for Rogue to do the same. As the trend of success with the swamp rat's plans went, however, it seemed Rogue intended to do her own thing.

Glass orbs were easily dodged, given her training, but her speed compared horribly with Minus'. While the girl cartwheeled and back-flipped out of the range of the Jersey boy's latest barrage, Remy was drawing from his coat a deck of cards. It had been days since this skill was put in practice, honestly, but his prowess wasn't the least bit faded. Perfectly aimed, alight throwing-cards embedded in the yard and bounced off the pavement around their impromptu opponent. According to tactic, Minus retreated backward several feet to avoid the subsequent blasts.

In the background, Rogue tested previously possessed powers on a blade of grass. No luck. So, if Remy had played the part of the catalyst, she and Minus had switched abilities. Emitting a gruff sigh, Rogue realized she'd have to rely purely on her combat training for this situation. Frankly, she had planned to rough the gray kid up already. Remy had been right all along.

This could go on for days. Gambit against Gambit, basically. One throws while the other retreats. Rinse and repeat. What Minus couldn't steal, however, was Remy's daring. The gambler. The risk-taker. Minus spent his time holding his ground while the Cajun worked across his diameter. Eventually, the sixteen-year-old villain had his back toward Rogue.

Charge! Er, in the forward-tackle sense, this time. The girl sprinted directly on Minus' location, halted at the last minute, a delivered a devastating roundhouse to his gut. As he gasped to retake the air knocked out of him, Rogue grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back.

"Remy," she called. He was already approaching, but he quickened his gait to humor her. "Here." And she held out her free, bare, pale hand.

After gazing at this with his brows raised, he insisted first, "enlighten Remy."

"Yer absorption, Ah'm catalyst, he's kinetics. Ah'll switch ya' two back."

"Et tu?"

She growled.

"Whadda'bout you, sha?"

"Minus said before, we miaght could void his pow'rs durin' tha switch." As she said this, she jerked the young man's held wrist. Bare skin on bare skin. "An' his mem'ries confirm that, righ'?" Remy limply nodded. "Absorption versus Catalyst. Ah dunno what'll happen, but we migh' as well trigh it!"

"But, Rogue. Remy already touch' him wit' yo'r pow'rs. No-t'ing like that happened."

She hesitated for a minute before suggesting, "sustained contact."

"Dat don' sound exactly sa-" Of course, Rogue didn't care to hear the Cajun's take on this. Without further ceremony, she stepped swiftly forward and grabbed his gloved hand. Like each time before, there was no physical indication of the Catalyst's powers taking effect. Remy balked and jerked his hand from Rogue, then. Alone with Minus on the circuit, a very familiar pain gripped the girl like lightning through her head. Suddenly dizzy, Rogue released the Jersey boy and staggered. Down went Minus, unconscious, but no one paid him any mind. Remy dropped his bo staff and lurched across the distance to brace Rogue from falling. A coat-covered arm helped to support the girl's weight as she recovered.

A rumbled, "hmm," in Remy's chest assured Rogue she had not passed out. Even so, it wasn't exactly comforting. "How da we know dat wasn' him?" They both glared at the fallen young man's form in the wrecked yard.

"Take off ya' glove an' smack him." Despite her serious tone, Remy chuckled.

"To be hones', sha, Remy t'ink he rat'ur chance it wit'chu."

"It's safer ta try him," she persisted.

The Cajun was relentless, as usual. "Nah, de risk iz pro'lly fi'dy/fi'dy."

Deflated, Rogue put on her most nonchalant face. Her vibrant green eyes rolled again to illustrate a strong discontent with the options. "Fahn." But no glove was shed. Not even a sleeve rolled up. In place of a simple tap on the hand or brush of an arm, Remy bent around the girl and firmly kissed her. And wilted. And sunk to the ground on his knees. Rogue followed him down for the heck of it. While the Cajun managed to remain alert and not black out in the following seconds, the girl fought with a cloud of despair hanging overhead. The subtle depression that accompanied her powers came flowing back through her veins, but was it because of the future ahead, or the past she just left behind?

"Try yers," the girl murmured to her conscious company as she scooted a foot or two away. Remy shuffled his legs out straight and sat leaning back on one arm. Obligated by the request, he fished his cards out of a pocket where he'd only just replaced them moments prior. From the reduced deck, the Cajun drew off the top card. Between his dexterous fingers, the plastic-coated paper came ablaze with translucent, magenta fire. A thumb to the corner of the card flipped it around. His stern, red on black eyes studied the suit: three of hearts; then, with a careless shrug, he tossed it over his shoulder. It detonated quietly in the driveway, bursting into unrecognizable, smoldering pieces.

Cue the welcome home party. Logan, trailed by a curious Tabitha, burst out of the front doors and onto the steps. His adamantium claws were at the ready as if he expected to rush into a battle. As he realized the fight was long since over, and that all involved seemed to be out of commission and on the ground, he snarled. "Somebody wanna tell me what's going on here?!"

Wordlessly, the duo on the lawn exchanged guilty looks. Rogue's sulky half-grin went unabashed by Remy's inquisitive stare.

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**END THEME **- If there was a lengthy bill of credits to roll here, Fischerspooner's _A Kick In The Teeth _would be playing in the background.

**REVIEWS? **- Since I'm publishing this story all at once, there's obviously no pause for comments in between each chapter. So, if need be, I'll submit a _'chapter 5: writer's reflections'_ for responses, answers, and so on. :)

**FINAL WORD **- I confess, as you reach the end, the title of this story should change in meaning. "Mock Me" is not a taunt (as one would anticipate to be barked between our two stars.) Rather, it's a breathless utterance traceable to the lips of those staring into the face of "greener grass" as it's usually found, a drab yellow-brown and dying, on the _other side_. FIN.


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